Frekari trembled like a newborn fawn, slender mile-long limbs shaky and uncertain. Nonetheless, her fine-boned paws marched down the bank where seafoam dampened the sand . . . and the edges of flattened waves kissed her claws. He expected her to flinch. To freeze in place before forcing herself forward, air jumping raggedly in her lungs. Instead, Kari impressed him by taking measured steps until saltwater submerged her feet . . . and then rippled by her ankles . . . until the sea brushed her breastbone and then the slope of her shoulders. All the while, the alabaster gangster followed close behind, near enough that all he had to do was bite down on the scruff of her neck if she lost her footing. The Alpha noticed the precise moment the kalak’s mental barrier kicked in and prevented farther exploration; her frame went rigid, as if a massive wave would suck her under if she weren’t careful. Eyes the color of fresh mud slipped from the ocean to Kershov and back again—bright with fear and memories from the past. Her voice quivered.

Ker only nodded at her admission—no judgment, no impatience. “Very well. This is as good a place to start as any.” Water sloshed as he took his spot next to her, a tail-length away, facing out toward the vast expanse of perfect blue. Part of him wanted to pity Frekari . . . after all, the sea felt so refreshing and invigorating for him—a crisp cool current that chased away the sun’s heat and relaxed tired muscles. Under his paws, the sand felt like crushed velvet: soft and malleable. About two yards away, a school of silver fish shimmered just below the surface. The most dangerous part of Uyaraut’s landscape was also, strangely enough, it’s most breathtaking. If Frekari could cure her phobia—become one with the waves that other wolves couldn’t handle—she’d carve a place for herself in this territory that no one could take from her.

Bottomless black eyes kept the firebird in the periphery, but otherwise Kershov constantly scanned the horizon for signs of danger. Where they stood, the occasional crest of a wave buffeted their chests—but these gentle pushes might suddenly transform into vicious collisions when the tide rushed in. “What does the water feel like?” A question with a hard edge: Ker wasn’t looking for words like “nice” or “wet.” He wanted Frekari to focus on every physical aspect of her situation—grounding herself in reality, and not the horror of her memories. “Can you feel the current? The way the water rushes forward, but then draws back? Do you find yourself adjusting your stance to compensate for the motion?”