The descent from the Sacred Summit felt like walking on air.
When Rowan and Aria finally returned to the Nightfall packhouse, the quiet, intimate magic of the mountain was immediately replaced by a wall of chaotic, joyful noise. The courtyard was packed with massive draft horses, heavy wooden sleds, and unfamiliar wolves wrapped in thick furs of gray, brown, and russet.
The allies had arrived.
The Moon Rite of a Supreme Alpha was not a private affair. It was a political and spiritual earthquake, and the northern packs who swore loyalty to Nightfall had braved the aftermath of the Iron Frost to be there.
"Look at this," Rowan murmured, his hand resting securely on the small of Aria’s back as they navigated the crowded courtyard. "They came for you, Aria."
"They came for their Alpha," s
