"Will she make it?" Jason's voice was rough like gravel, his shadow looming over me as we stood at the threshold of the infirmary.
"Elara is strong," I whispered, though my heart clenched at the sight of her pallid face, so still amidst the flurry of activity. "The healers are the best our kind have known. She will survive."
We turned away from the scene, the image of Elara's pain etched into my memory. In the silence of the private chamber, Paul Biansky stood waiting, his posture rigid with tension. His eyes met mine, and in them, I read the echoes of the ambush-the flash of fangs, the clash of claws, the cold fear that whispered of death.
"We were fools to think we could scout their territory undetected," Paul said, his voice low but fierce. "Alpha Biansky-his pack is more tha
