For most pups, the transition from childhood into adulthood happened along the continuous flow of time’s river, subtle changes and landmarks caught among the ripples like small stepping stones. One day, you wore a puppy’s downy coat, your eyes newly opened to the wonders of the world . . . and gradually that world grew bigger, more complex, as you stretched into your too-big paws and ran toward the excitement of your first hunt. Things blurred together. Experiences overlapped and coalesced. Not many wolves could point to the precise moment in time when they’d stopped being cubs . . . but Ambrosia could. She could give you the details down to the second, to the sun’s position in the sky, when her life shifted forward. Permanently. For her, time was less like a river winding peacefully forward - and more like a series of sharply dropping waterfalls with killing rocks at the bottom.

The dark lass had been alone when it happened - because of course she was. Kirastasia was off somewhere either sulking or screwing; her father Drizzt recently perished in some battle Ambrosia knew nothing about; her two brothers were old enough to look after themselves without her acting as their stand-in mother. Although her Tempest sire had explained some of the mechanics of their kind, Ambrosia hadn’t really known what to expect. She did not know if she’d become a true Oferweder, or simply a Haeld - and that difference mattered. One path meant the magnificent blazing eyes of a vampire hunter . . . the other far less thrilling, and honestly, far less appealing, because if Ambrosia’s life weren’t going to change completely then what did it matter? How was she to look forward to a life of mediocrity? Of continuous disappointment? Of forever not being enough, of grasping desperately at meaning she’d never possess? When the terrifying agony wrenched through her - stopping her heart, shredding her muscles - Ambrosia laughed for joy through her horrible pain. She’d smiled for the first time in her life at her own reflection, her beautiful fiery sapphires burning up at her from the still water. And as unknown voices and impossible images flooded her awareness, whispering of her purpose and her bloodline’s history, Ambrosia knew that all of that bullshit could go straight to hell, because nothing could take this incredible glory away from her. Regardless of what her mother said or did not say . . . regardless of anyone’s approval or opinion . . . Ambrosia was a Tempest. Power sang in her veins and her rage sustained her like milk and honey.

She fled from Wudubearo weeks prior to the encroaching shadow that drove the others out. Her siblings no longer required her to take care of them. Her father was dead. Her mother . . . had never really been much of a mother, although Ambrosia could tell that Kirastasia tried as hard to love them as her empty heart was able. Free of her tethers at last, the young huntress spent days in a row simply testing out her newly gained abilities. The sooty damsel had never been weak, yet her current strength and endurance astounded her. Night no longer worried her; even during the inky blackness of the New Moon, the azure flicker of her irises lit the forest like a frosty lamp. Her awareness - which had been limited to that which she drank in with her five senses - expanded tenfold. A new sense blossomed within her, one that felt out the souls of other varg around her. Details sparkled with such vivid intensity before her vision that Ambrosia thought she must have been blind before her transformation.

Deep in her ice-imprisoned heart, the dusky fae pitied other lupines. A existence devoid of the delicious advantages being a Tempest brought was not one worth living.

Winter fell swiftly, catching Ambrosia off guard during her weeks of delirious euphoria. She knew how to catch food for herself, how to find shelter during furious snowfall . . . yet the girl found herself creeping closer toward a hive of Tempest-rich energy that buzzed just along the horizon of her mind, her instinctive drive for companionship stronger than her independent streak. More varg . . . like me. Damn her curiosity. Ambrosia told herself she’d set a den up in the woods after she investigated this gathering - for surely she’d lose interest once she saw them all. This was . . . recon. That’s all. Information collection. She needed to size up the competition, so to speak.

Paws the color of freshly brewed coffee carried the little warrioress tirelessly toward her goal. Ambrosia first noticed the noise: so many voices chatting at once, emotions ranging from embarrassed to happy to worried to frustrated. Perfectly triangular ears flattened against her smooth crown. Gross. She already regretted coming here. Nevertheless, she shifted quietly onward, concealing herself among the interwoven bracken, her brindled pelt of espresso and chocolate fading easily into the natural palette around her. Two males and one small female Tempest milled around a frozen cascade of water spilling like carved alabaster down a slope . . . and there were two rainbow wolves, creatures of impossible color standing around as if this weren’t the weirdest thing in the world. Had Drizzt ever mentioned these things?! They were called something like . . . Arks I-Ray. Arcus . . . whatever. Ambrosia’s stare riveted upon the pair of amazingly pretty predators, momentarily forgetting why she’d traveled here in the first place. And also forgetting that her own irises smoldered just as brightly as the strangers standing over yonder, flickering blue between the branches laced in front of her face.