The air in the chamber hung heavy with the scent of Hudson’s dominant aura. Avery felt a tremor in her limbs—what was the High-Alpha thinking, marking her so possessively in a den of scholars?

Thankfully, the contact was fleeting. Hudson pulled back, his talons lingering on her waist for a heartbeat before he shoved a heavy, iron-bound box into her hands and vanished into the mist without a word.

Heart hammering against her ribs, Avery turned to find Gregory standing awkwardly in the stone archway of the workshop.

"The elk-stew is losing its heat," Gregory noted, clearing his throat to break the tension.

Avery stowed the mysterious box and returned...