The morning light in the Nightshade pack was a sharp, unforgiving silver that cut through the mountain mist. Rhiannon stood in her own chambers, the air smelling of the cedar-steeped water she’d just used to scrub the last of the Southern dust from her skin. She was finally dressed in her own clothes- a fitted tunic of deep evergreen wool and soft buckskin trousers that allowed her to move.
Yet, as she pulled her hair over her shoulder to check the brand in the small vanity mirror, the reflection felt like a lie. The evergreen wool looked right, but the blackened mark of Gorgon’s iron remained a jagged, ugly discordance against her skin.
"Ready?"
Fenris stood in the doorway. He looked rested, his own dark leathers clean, the terrifying Alpha of the previous night replaced by the ste
