Kael’s blade didn't just hang in the air; it trembled with the weight of a decade of brotherhood.
"Do it," Silas whispered. He wasn't standing anymore. He was slumped against the frozen roots of an ancient oak, his hand clutched over the silver-burned hole in his side. Blood—bright, oxygenated Alpha blood—was bubbling between his fingers.
He didn't look at Kael’s sword. He looked at Kael’s eyes. "If you think killing her will save what’s left of this pack... then strike through me first."
"She just turned Finn into a pile of gray ash, Silas!" Jace screamed, his voice breaking into a sob. He pointed a shaking finger at the shriveled remains of the boy who had been their youngest scout. "He’s gone! There’s nothing left to bury! And you're still talking about her?"
The remaining eighteen
