The courtyard was chaos.
Howls clashed against shouts, the moon’s silver glow catching the whites of hundreds of wolf eyes. Torches guttered in the cold night air, their flames bending in the wind like trembling fingers. The sharp tang of iron and blood drifted from the chains at Michael’s wrists, mixing with the musk of fur and fear that clung to the assembled wolves.
Some roared for Michael’s blood, voices raw with blind loyalty to Arthur. Others muttered uneasily, their growls laced with doubt. And a few—just a few—stared at Ivy as though seeing her for the first time, as though they sensed something stirring beneath her skin.
Arthur’s grip on her chin tightened until her jaw ached. His nails dug into her skin, forcing her head upward until she was staring directly into the merciless
