When Scarlett arranged the meeting with Alpha Ronan, her voice was unusually tense.
“He’s not like Alpha Adrian,” she warned. “Alpha Ronan doesn’t pretend to be civilized. He’ll tell you what he wants, straight and raw. You need to be colder than he is.”
“I don’t need civility,” I said, tightening my cloak. “I need power.”
The Highland pack’s camp sat between rock crevices and snow peaks, like a gaping, silent wound in the land.
The first time I saw Alpha Ronan, he stood beneath a massive stone wolf sculpture—tall, blade-thin, pale as bone, with silver hair and eyes like dead frost.
He didn’t rise to greet me. Just slowly opened his eyes as I walked into the hall.
“So you’re the ex-Luna of Nightfog,” he said.
“Former,” I replied.
“You want my warriors.”
“Yes.”
“What are you offer
