When Alek Volkov said ‘all of us’, I thought he only meant Elizabeth Basco, Alexandra Volkov and himself, but the next morning— not even half a day since they were called— what came was not just the three. They were accompanied by an entire army. Elite Russian warriors, all of whom were at least twice the size of the average werewolf, trailed behind the leaders of the north. Each and everyone of them stood tall, intimidating and every bit as powerful as their reputation said they were.
Packed with unnaturally large bodies, the warriors and the three came walking down a cargo plane with expressions that could kill. The northerners wore no uniform, but everyone knew who and what they were. Cold as the place they live in, their expressions are savage with tattooed bodies to match. I knew th
