The heavy oak doors of the master suite clicked shut, locking out the frantic, terrified energy of the pack below.
The silence in the room was absolute, broken only by the crackling of the fire in the hearth. The gray morning light was fading fast, swallowed by the thick, heavy snow clouds rolling in from the north. We had less than five days to reach the Neutral City and stand before the High Tribunal. Five days to prepare for a trial that would likely end in our execution or the complete annihilation of the Shadow Pack.
Silas stood by the hearth, his large hands resting on the stone mantelpiece as he stared into the dancing flames. He had removed his heavy fur cloak, leaving him in a thin, dark tunic that clung to the hard, bunched muscles of his shoulders and back.
Through the blood
