Ayla's POV
The wind off the Frostfangs cut like knives as we descended the ridge. Snow clung to my hair and lashes, the cold biting at my skin, but the bond kept me warm. Every pulse from Kael—steady, fierce, unrelenting—burned like a second heartbeat in my chest.
Below, the Northmoon Pack's territory spread in a jagged sweep of pine and stone. Smoke rose from the watchtowers, curling into the pale sky. Even from here, I could smell the blood on the wind.
Kael walked just ahead of me, black cloak snapping in the wind, his golden eyes scanning the valley with predatory focus. His wolf simmered under his skin, ready to break free at the first sign of movement.
"They'll remember you," he said without looking back, voice rough.
"They'll remember rejecting me," I replied softly, my hand brushing the cold hilt of my dagger. The memories burned sharp—the dungeon, the silver, the laughter when Cassia stole my scent.
Kael's jaw tightened, his voice a low growl.
