He was dead.
The brown-furred wolf that had nearly torn me apart lay broken in the snow, neck snapped cleanly by the coil of shadow that had struck like a serpent.
The sight was sickening.
I was relieved that I survived, but the relief was short-lived.
Shapes moved through the white haze, wolves tearing through the battlefield, their eyes fixed one direction.
They weren't slowing. They were coming for me.
I staggered backward, my boots slipping against the snow. The shadows swirled around me, thickening, curling like storm clouds given form.
Through their veil, I could still see the wolves closing in. Too many, too fast.
My pulse hammered, and my breath clouded the air in sharp bursts.
I spun, searching for him. If the shadows were here, then Rion had to be close. He had to be watching.
But there was no silver hair glinting in the frost, no crimson or ocean eyes burning through the mist.
Only shadows, endless and suffocating, hemming me in.
