“Good girl.”

Kershov muttered his approval around a mouthful of Milo’s downy fur, so his words came out rather muffled and slurred—but he could not risk dropping the tiny creature as the entire world continued to heave and pitch around them like the death throes of fallen prey. They made an incredibly comical pair . . . or they would have, if the white warrior had been carrying her under any other circumstances. He had no reason to save a strange she-wolf he’d just met. The old him would probably have left Milo to her own devices back in the field, since rescuing her would only slow him down. But something had spurred him forward to snatch her scruff and sprint back to his pack with her in tow—something that had either not existed within him before or otherwise been so deeply buried Kershov had no idea it was there. No thoughts of dropping Milo in the dirt and continuing alone crossed his mind. His teeth remained firmly clamped and his limbs churned onward, neck straining to hold the diminutive fae as high above the splitting earth as possible. Were his wolves all right? Had they found safety as their surroundings rose up in revolt?

The tapestry of blossoms—now shredded and thundering as chasms cut through the dirt—faded away behind the glacial Czar as he galloped, paws flying over paths that buckled and tried to throw him sideways. Soon long grasses whipped his sides: a vast expanse of tundra that had not been there before. Stone clawed its way into the afternoon air, reshaping the horizon right in front of Kershov’s stunned gaze. He veered sharply around a boulder that poked its great bulk from its bed—a grey-brown monolith that nearly smashed into him and Milo—and continued running. That bizarre warmth that told him where his pack—Uyaraut, Uyaraut—lay grew hotter with each stride. Ker did not question its truth. Please let them all be okay, please let them have found shelter . . .

A roar bellowed into Kershov’s ears. He slowed his pace just in time to avoid a violent tidal wave of water barreling its way down a newly opened river bed—the land dividing on either side to allow this new massive serpent of water to slice its way toward the horizon. The ivory Alpha skidded to a stop, Milo swinging from his jaws. A split second of difference, and they both would have fallen into the chasm and been carried away by the freshly born river’s aggressive current. We’ll have to follow it . . . there’s no crossing this monster. Determined, Kershov gave a short growl and started loping along the water’s edge—

Only to stumble and roll, Milo still in his grasp, as the ground gave way and sent them both rolling right into the river—the banks collapsing into white spray and glittering rapids.

Kershov’s skull struck a stone—not hard enough to knock him unconscious, yet his jaws opened on reflex, Milo’s ruff pulled immediately away from him. Dazed, he could only focus on forcing his columns to swim, paddle, MOVE so that the river would not claw him under and drown him. “MILO!” He barked her name and received a throat full of water as a reward. Bottomless black eyes scanned the rushing water for a glimpse of her pale head. “Damn it all—no good deed goes unpunished.”