Damien
The wind cut sharp across the northern ridge, carrying the scent of iron, pine sap, and distant snow. I ran the perimeter in my wolf form, four paws pounding over rock and frost, breath steady, coat slick with melted ice. The Keep loomed far below, a silhouette of stone against the white sky. My ears twitched at every shift in the wind, every crunch beneath the snow. I knew every sound this territory was supposed to make.
A fresh scent brushed the back of my mind. Garrick.
“Southern trail clear. No breaches,” his voice echoed across the link.
“Same here. Hold west.”
“On it.”
We moved as one, silent, sharp, practiced. Garrick had been my Beta since the day I claimed the title. He was faster than me in his wolf form, lean and precise, but he followed my lead without hesitation.
