Tristan trailed in her wake, his azure gaze haunted as he watched his mate's movements—the coiled tension in her muscles, the flint-hard set of her jaw. He knew that look all too well: the Alpha's fury, banked but burning hotter with each rattling breath.

At last, they arrived at the crest of the gathering knoll, where the council elders and pack matriarchs had assembled. A hushed murmur rolled through the crowd as Seraphina ascended the rise, her piercing stare sweeping over them all.

"My wolves," she began, her rich contralto cutting through the dreadful hush. "We have suffered an unforgivable atrocity at the hands of a rogue bent on sowing...