Hours passed since the Crimson Legion had marched out of the heavy iron gates. The sun had begun to set over the Northern Wastes, casting long, eerie, blood-red shadows across the stone floors of Kiara’s chamber.
The silence in the Lycan Citadel was absolutely oppressive. Without the constant, thrumming hum of ten thousand Lycan warriors, without the clash of steel from the training yards or the deep, vibrating roars of the dire-wolves, the massive fortress felt like a beautifully decorated, freezing tomb.
Kiara sat curled up in a heavy velvet armchair near the massive stone fireplace, staring blankly at the flickering orange flames. Elara had visited an hour ago, leaving a tray of hot, nutrient-rich broth and pain-dulling herbs on the small table. Kiara hadn't touched any of it. Her min
