Kael's POV
The metallic tang of blood cut through the night air long before we reached the ridgeline.
It carried on the Frostfang wind, bitter and sharp, undercut by something fouler—rot and shadow, the scent of Cassia's stolen magic. My black wolf prowled just beneath my skin, claws scraping my chest from the inside, demanding we hunt.
Rylan moved ahead of us, a dark silhouette against the snow. His knives glinted as he crouched, pressing his fingers to a bloodstained drift. "Fresh," he muttered. "Minutes old. They didn't even struggle."
I crouched beside him, golden eyes narrowing on the scarlet trail painting the snow. Seven sets of paw prints surrounded it, dragging marks telling the rest of the story. Wolves had fallen here—and had been taken.
Behind me, I felt Ayla approach slowly, her movements careful but certain. The bond pulsed with her exhaustion and steel-edged resolve. Her silver eyes were clear now, but there was a weight in them—knowledge no wolf should carry.
