Frost
The shadows in me stir.
Agitated. Excited.
Enthused by the feel of another spine cracking between my teeth.
As the shifter I was fighting dies, I can feel his heart stop against my tongue. I know this man. Quite frankly, I didn’t like him when I lived amongst this pack, and now, I hate him. He stands for something I can no longer accept, just another blind follower to an undeserving alpha. His death means nothing to me. One fewer wolf that can hurt us.
Then something shifts in the air. My shadows notice the sudden absence of sound.
Silence falls over the valley, and in the abrupt, muted hush, all movement ceases.
I drop the limp wolf shifter to the ground, and the shadows raging through me celebrate the meaty thwack of his useless body falling. Raising my head, I sniff the air for the source of discontent. For whatever has happened to pause the entire battle.
Amora isn’t far from me. She’s slumped over on her side and holding herself up by only her front paws, clearly injured but conscious. Her attention is riveted on something ahead of her. I follow her line of sight to see Quinton standing over a still form.
I recognize who it is in the moment before the mourning cry arises.
One long, mournful howl splits the funereal silence. One by one, more howls emerge, and a static of chatter begins in mind speak.
The alpha has fallen.
No. No!
Felicity is dead.
He’s killed her. Oh God, he’s killed her.
Then another, firmer voice. Cormac. Retreat! Retreat now!
It’s the smart move. We’re vastly outnumbered, even with myself and my brothers as allies of the Silver Crest pack. Quinton’s new generation of feral shifters outnumbers even us, unfortunately. Not to mention, when an alpha falls, their pack often falls apart. The smartest thing to do at this point is to flee and regroup.
From the corner of my eye, I notice movement near where I last saw Amora. Thinking she might need help getting up, I turn to cross to her, and find she isn’t the source of the movement. One of Quinton’s shadow wolves is stalking her. Quietly. Unseen. Unheard.
No.
I launch across the rocky ground, racing at top speed to reach her before the foe does. He sees me coming and reroutes, snarling with spittle hanging from his sharp teeth, his sights set on me now.
We slam into one another behind Amora as the howls continue to spill into the night sky.
The rival shadow shifter hits the ground, and I land on top of him. He snarls and snaps onto my leg, but the angle I have on him gives me easy access to his ears. I bite his lobe and tear it from his body, swallowing it whole. The wolf yelps and bucks beneath me, releasing my leg, but he can’t shake me.
I have more shadows than he does.
More power.
More rage.
I dispatch him quickly, then untangle myself from his lifeless limbs. Latching onto Amora’s scruff, I lift her to a standing position, wait until she finds her footing, then give her a shove. Run.
But Felicity…
Her voice cracks on the name. She glances back at the fallen alpha’s body. Quinton has vanished, lost in the melee of running wolves as the battle resumes.
I can sense the turmoil of emotions inside her, even if I don’t quite understand them. Amora only just met Felicity, so the shock and pain radiating through our bond makes no sense to me. Any death is unfortunate, but it makes no difference to us whether Felicity lives or dies. It almost feels as if Amora is mourning the female.
However, I do want to try to understand these things. Amora feels things so strongly that sometimes, I think she could teach me. Help me do better.
Right now, however, isn’t the time. Not with my shadows still shifting and screaming with bloodlust. I haven’t lost control of them, but the possibility remains that I will.
We have to go. Now. I urge her forward with another shove.
I’m worried at first that Amora has been too grievously injured to run, but she proves me wrong. Whatever wounds she’s suffered, they’re not bad enough to keep her down for long. Her footsteps are a bit unsteady at first, but they grow more even as we sprint through the valley behind the fleeing Silver Crest pack. Wolves move like wraiths in the growing moonlight, bodies darting, tails flying, paws like thunder on the ground.
Quinton’s shifters pursue us, unwilling to let their advantage go so easily. I snarl and lash out at one that gets too close, taking him down with a kick to the jaw, then I tackle a second and leave his body rolling in the dirt. Kian and Malix do the same, taking care of the stragglers as we linger at the back edge of the pack. One by one, the enemy falls behind in the darkness, until they’re gone.
Still, we run.
Once we settle into a steady pace—albeit a breakneck one—Kian draws up beside me. Everybody okay?
He uses that generic term, everybody, but his gaze seeks out mine. I appreciate his attempt to pretend he’s not focused entirely on me, the shadow-filled monstrosity that I am.
Since I’ve been so carefully singled out, I reply, I’m well.
He gives me a sidelong glance, glowing eyes narrowing. Are you lying to me?
I haven’t lost control, have I?
It’s not a lie, although a more accurate truth might be to say I don’t quite know what shape I’m in. The overabundance of shadows in me feels like a riot of darkness raging through my veins. They thrash beneath my skin, begging for more destruction, but I’ve managed to contain them, much better than I did in the moments after Quinton forced them into me. The fighting, the blood, the other newly made feral shifters… everything that just happened did leave me struggling to maintain my composure.
But I did. And I have. Surely that means something.
Kian’s narrowed gaze tells me he doesn’t quite believe me. But instead of arguing, he glances past me, looking toward Amora. What about you?
She doesn’t respond. She doesn’t even react as if she recognizes that he’s speaking to her.
From her other side, Malix speaks up. Kitty? You gonna make it?
Broken from her reverie by Malix’s nickname, Amora shakes her head and falters in her running for only a moment before she replies, Fine. I’m fine.
Kian doesn’t accuse her of lying the way he did me, which is ironic, given that I know very well she’s being untruthful. I can sense her agitation through our bond almost as strongly as I can feel the shadows beneath my own skin. She’s raw. Unsettled.
But sprinting at breakneck speed away from the site of a tragedy isn’t the right time to demand an explanation.
We barely stop to rest on the journey back to Wyoming. With Felicity dead, the Silver Crest pack is vulnerable, so it’s imperative that we reach their pack lands before Quinton can. While we aren’t certain he will attack, it’s safe to assume he’s already planning revenge for what just happened in his village. Even though our mission failed, he lost shifters in the battle, and he may even suspect that we were trying to steal his stone. We need to be ready if—or when—he comes after us.