KAEL'S POV
The pack had narrowed to white snow, black fur, and the gold of ancient eyes.
The leader of the Old Wolves circled me on the slope, its massive paws leaving no tracks, its silent strength pressing against my senses like a second gravity. Six more wolves flanked it, forming a shifting crescent around the cave. Each one radiated a cold authority that made my own wolf bristle but bow deep inside.
I could hear my own breath and the crunch of snow under my claws. I could feel the bond in my chest, hot and fragile, tethering me to the only thing that mattered—Ayla.
Behind me, in the cave, her faint pulse flickered along that bond, silver light seeping through the furs she lay under. Even in her near-unconscious state, her wolf was watching.
Prove your right to keep her.
The Old Wolf's message thrummed in my bones. It wasn't a sound; it was instinct, older than language, older than packs and kings.
It lunged without warning.
