The gates of Whitefang Keep thundered open.
Snow swirled around the sleigh as it slid through the courtyard, pulled by breathless wolves. Blood soaked the blankets. Scrolls bound in waxed oilcloth rattled in the storage bin.
Katherine leapt down before the sleigh stopped moving.
“Healers!" she shouted. “Now!"
Guards sprinted. Courtiers froze.
And then gasped—
As Damian Whitefang was carried off the sleigh, face ashen, breath shallow.
Katherine followed, blood streaked down her arms, her hair tangled, but her eyes—her eyes burned like stormfire.
Inside the healing wing, she stood over Damian's unmoving body, as the chief healer examined him.
“The field antidote kept him breathing," the woman said. “But not stable."
“I renewed the bond," Katherine said, voice low. “Fully. Fangs to
