Akira's tongue moved in long, methodical strokes across Kova's white fur. Her cub lay curled against her side, his small body rising and falling with the deep breaths of exhausted sleep. Five winters old, yet she'd known him for barely two days. The thought made her chest tighten with a mixture of rage and gratitude—rage at the humans who had stolen these years, gratitude that they had not broken his spirit.
Elena's safe house smelled of pine and old stone, built into the side of a mountain so cleverly that even Akira's sharp eyes had missed it until they were nearly upon it. Inside, the wounded rested on blankets while Elena and Mary tended them. The rescued cubs huddled together in the far corner, still wary after their captivity. Rain tapped against the reinforced windows, the rhythm s
