A year had passed.
One year since the desert. One year since the blood and fire. One year since she had found him—and he had let her go.
The Moon Packhouse had changed in that time. So had Sofia. So had the world.
The treaty between the Moon Pack and the southern Ixchele held. Trade flowed. Borders stayed quiet. No battles. No bloodshed.
But no one else had signed.
The other packs—north, east, and west—had watched what happened from a distance. They had seen the strongest pack in the country brought to its knees in a matter of days. They had seen the southern warriors move like smoke, strike like lightning, and vanish like ghosts.
And they had begun to ask questions.
What would stop the Ixchele from marching on them next?
What did it mean that only the Moon Pack had been spared?
F
