The flicker of hope in Preston Hale’s eyes sputtered and went out. He read the heavy, silent refusal in Avery’s stance. She wouldn't retreat to his territory; she was rejecting the sanctuary of the North to face the storm of the Ridge.

Preston gripped the wooden crate of rare mountain berries—a fortifying gift for her wolf—and managed a tight, pained smile. He extended it toward her. "I brought these from the high peaks to keep your strength up. Rest well, Avery. And remember, if the Montgomery shadow grows too cold, let out a howl. I will answer."

Before Avery’s fingers could even brush the crate, Hudson intervened. With a blur...