CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
The morning sun barely crests over the jagged mountaintops as I pace back and forth in front of the rogue prisoner. My breath mists in the cool air, mingling with the earthy scents of pine and wildflowers that mark the arrival of spring in the mountains. But the beauty of the dawn does nothing to ease the tight knot of worry for Silas coiling in my stomach.
"Where is he?" I demand again, my voice echoing against the stone and soil that form the natural walls of our camp on the northern ridge. The rogue wolf, his fur a mottled grey like the pre-dawn sky, meets my gaze with steely indifference.
"Your Beta means nothing to me," he sneers, his voice laced with disdain. I grind my teeth at the mention of Silas, my childhood best friend whose laughter could always light u
