Kershov had scented them days ago, that musky feline stench that clung to the roof of his mouth and made his hackles spike. The massive arctic dragga was by no means a small wolf—but he wasn’t stupid, either, and he knew what dangers even a single cougar presented. To have a mated pair . . . well, double the trouble wasn’t exactly double the fun. Abendrot needed all the prey it could grab. Sharing was not an option. And even if elk were running by the dozens right beneath Kershov’s snout, he still refused to abide cats living in his kingdom. They needed to be disposed of. Immediately.

The pallid King followed the scent of Mabbit as the black wolf zeroed in on their quarry. Frost crunched lightly under his paws; it felt like home. Evidently the existence of pumas within the territory had surprised the dark soldier. Ker’s alertly perked ears caught the abrupt thud of the assassin’s heart as he spied the perilous pair for the first time. Ah, so you finally see we have vistors . . . The Czar knew better than to make a sound to gain Mabbit’s awareness; the wolves had to work as silently as possible to maintain the advantage of surprise. With a grace that seemed supernatural considering his colossal frame, Ker smoothly followed Mabbit’s pawsteps and positioned himself just underneath the tree his underling was climbing.

It was lucky that Mabbit was so small and lithe. Only the barest creaks of wood broke the air as he jumped up higher limbs, sounds that could be passed off as the wind whipping through the branches. Kershov had concealed himself in the tangled bracken; his body was preternaturally still, stonelike, so that those feline eyes would not be drawn to his gleaming ivory coat. Any day now, little squirrel. He kept his senses trained on Mabbit, prepared for the moment his subject decided to strike. If this works, I won’t berate you for climbing trees like a rodent.

A final wooden sigh from above.

A shadow leapt from the tree.

Kershov darted forward, not daring to waste even a precious millisecond of time. He charged in roaring at the top of his lungs, hackles flared like stalagmites, teeth shining deadly in the light, the picture of absolute death. Sometimes predators could be cowed by the sudden arrival of an aggressive enemy. The Alpha hoped that he and his gladiator had caught the cats off guard enough that their first instinct would be to back away in surprise.