Kaelen reached the ward on his hands and knees.
The barrier absorbed his weight without a sound. He slid against it and lay there for several seconds, staring at the warm room beyond.
Frostbite had blackened one side of his face. His lips were split, and the ceremonial cloak was gone. A torn tunic gave him almost no protection from the wind.
He lifted a b****y hand and struck the ward. The magic returned a dull thump.
“Elara.” His voice barely carried through the stone. “Please.”
Tears froze along his cheek. He tried the mate bond, though it had weakened under the noise of the dying pack.
All I felt from him was fear. His title, his rooms, his followers, his body: he mourned each loss as it reached him.
When I stayed by the hearth, he forced himself onto his knees.
*“Come back, and
