The scent of blood was instant.
Hot, coppery, laced with poison.
Milo's body hit the floor with a sound I’ll never forget—a wet thud followed by the choking silence of disbelief. His coat was matted with gore. His chest barely rose.
Rowan screamed first.
I followed.
Jace lunged toward him, but Kairis raised a shaking hand. “Wait.”
Garrick stepped into the ruined lodge like he owned it. Like this place, this pack, had always belonged to him.
He wore red.
Not the crimson of warriors, but the dark ceremonial robes of the First Claimant—the ancient title once held by wolves who challenged for the right to rewrite succession.
In his arms: power.
At his side: a blade glowing with Echo-blood.
Behind him: foreign wolves, half-shadow, half-flesh. Rogues twisted by forbidden rites.
“I wa
