Elara’s POV
The boy’s words felt like the second beating I had had tonight. My breath hitched in my throat, sending a sharp, stabbing pain through my side, but I didn't let go of his arm.
What? My survivors. My people. The few who had escaped the fire and the silver-traders were being brought here to be slaughtered or enslaved by a blood oath. No!
"How many?" I whispered, my voice cracked and desperate. "Leo, how many are left?"
"Twenty, maybe thirty," he murmured, his eyes darting to the heavy oak door. "They’re being held in the old grain wagons outside the north gate. Ashanti says the Alpha wants to make an example of them. He wants to show the pack that the Silvermoon line is dead."
I looked at the crumpled piece of paper in my hand. My fingers were shaking so badly I could bare
