The arrival of Macaria and Grey Wind suffused Kershov with an odd but not unwelcome warmth, their combined presence a long slow sip of espresso for his soul—comforting and invigorating. They were living, breathing anchors to reality, to the Blossom Forest he had left and the shifting land he’d returned to. That being said, the cold Czar would not have a pack to defend without the other, fresher faces that had literally wandered into his life. Only moments after their rapid impromptu pack meeting had quieted to a natural close, Ker nodded silently to the one called Kari and slipped from the not-yet-solidified border of Bright Moon. He confidently assumed the bitingly sardonic firebird would follow on his heels—if not from instant loyalty, then from her clear and consuming curiosity. She fascinated him . . . and it seemed as if the Ice King fascinated her right back. That show of her stomach, albeit unwilling, had gained her access into his territory and his protection; only further exploration of her mind would provide the tentative foundation for a closer relationship with her new Alpha.

His methodical pawsteps carried him away from Bright Moon’s lonesome corridors toward the vast expanse of Blossom’s largest lake—the placed he’d recced first upon returning to this world. He paused as soon as his paws skimmed the water’s edge, ears turned backward to listen for the sound of the kalak’s pursuit. “Kari is not your full name,” the glacial Emperor murmured immediately once he felt the phoenix close by. He turned to peer at her, his carefully frosted expression holding no reproach or mockery. “What are strength are you keeping by withholding your title? Or . . .” and now his eyes narrowed with wicked amusement, sharpened chips of ebony. “Did you prefer to reserve such intimacies for your Alpha alone?”