KAEL'S POV
The canyon's breath turned the air into a storm of frost, biting at my fur, crystallizing along my muzzle.
Then—movement.
From the jagged black split in the ice, something pulled itself upward. First, claws—each the length of a spear, curling like hooked scythes. Then arms, too long, too thin, sheathed in ice that cracked and fell away like old scabs.
His head rose last—wolf-shaped, but wrong. Too many teeth. Eyes like molten silver ringed in black, glowing with a hunger that didn't belong in this pack.
Ayla pressed closer to my side, her silver wolf's hackles spiking, fire already licking along her paws. The bond between us thrummed hard, like it knew instinctively that this was the center of the storm.
"Veylor." I growled into the tether.
The god's voice rolled through the canyon, deep and slow, like the grinding of glaciers. "My crown-bearers. Both at once. I should thank you before I devour you."
