The outer marshes of the Blackwood territory were a place of rot and silence. Here, where the soil was too waterlogged for crops and the air hung thick with the sulfurous stench of decaying vegetation, the light of the sun seemed to die before it hit the ground.
Caleb walked alone, his heavy leather boots sinking into the black mud. He had abandoned his alpha cloak, his guards, and any semblance of the leader he once was. His skin was pasty, his eyes hollowed out by sleeplessness, and his wolf was clawing at his skull like a rabid animal. Without Ariah, the pack’s spiritual health was failing; the livestock was sickly, and the warriors were brawling in the streets, no longer guided by a stable, balanced alpha aura.
But Caleb did not care about the pack. He cared only about the empty, ble
