Ronan Silverfang’s camp sprawled across a high, barren plateau, black and silver tents snapping in the cold wind, fires burning low and blue with alchemical flames. The air reeked of smoke, defeat, and the sharp tang of blood that no amount of scrubbing could wash away.The retreat had been orderly.
But it had been a retreat.His wolves kept their distance as he stalked through the camp, coat flung open, chest heaving with barely contained fury. The Evergreen Coven’s intervention still burned in his mind those damned vines, thorns laced with magic, binding his elite guard like flies in a web. He had lost good fighters. Pride. Momentum.And gained nothing.
He entered his command tent, larger than the rest, lined with thick furs and iron rings glinting in the firelight. A heavy oak table stoo
