The tang of saltwater clung to Kershov’s fur, mixing with the undercurrent of snow and pine and old blood that had woven itself into his tapestry long ago. He decided he didn’t mind the nautical addition . . . just as he found himself strangely at peace with the violent and extreme transformation his pack had survived. Bright Moon—Uyaraut, the Alpha corrected himself mentally—had once nestled deep in the woods, its heart opening toward a view of the night sky unobstructed by overreaching lattices of branch. Its trees and soft grasses had been bathed by purest moonlight . . . but those mysterious mist-laced forests had been shredded from their roots and buried by acres of dark jagged stone jutting aggressively toward the ocean—an ocean that had not even existed a week ago. Now Kershov’s wolves awoke to the sound of waves shattering themselves against rock and went to sleep lulled by the surf burbling over the sand banks. It was an entirely different world to adapt to. New challenges, new dangers. A new horizon to gaze out toward. And it was home.

Kershov was born to tackle any obstacle that dared lay itself across his path; he had not survived a lifetime of torment and hardship by cowering. Strengthening Uyaraut’s borders had been the first item on his pack’s agenda: actually exploring the land fenced by those walls had come second, once everyone felt safe enough to do so. Even now, when Ker shook his ghostly white coat, he sent grains of sand glittering into the veiled sunlight. “Ugh . . . I’m filthy.” A vague snarl crossed his ruined visage as he traveled, paws thudding methodically across the terrain. His goal hung suspended in the clouds skimming the earth over yonder—that freshly born mountain range whose catastrophic birth had torn the land around it to pieces. Curiosity and a burning ambition bid the cold Czar to discover the extent of Blossom’s magical change. Had the other packs transformed as well? How much of the world had been bulldozed and built back up? Kershov might visit each pack one by one to find out . . . or he could take a good hard look from the top of a mountain. Work smart. Not hard.

Playful rays of sunshine poked holes in the mist the farther Kershov snaked up the foothills. But this wasn’t what snagged the colossal dragga’s attention. No . . . that would be the strawberry blonde femme wandering dreamily on her own about a hundred yards away, her fur glowing a pretty russet shade. Ker paused, ears perked, silently considering the fae. He’d never seen her before—one could never forget that unique coat color, a peaches-and-cream palette unlike any wolf he’d ever met. What on earth is she doing alone?

The unknown wolfess had just as much of a right to travel the freelands as Kershov did; however, she wasn’t a giant brute covered in war scars. Danger would sniff at her heels far more often tha it would at Ker’s. He couldn’t help interest from creeping into his brain, begging him to investigate a potentially amusing situation . . .

On quiet paws, the ivory warrior ambled higher up the foothills until he found an outcropping of rock. A few firm kicks at a loose boulder sent a flurry of stones clattering down the incline—gathering speed as they rolled. By Kershov’s judgment, they should be heading straight for the reddish fae.