They had told her to run, and for a few desperate minutes, Willow had tried.
The warriors Dorian assigned to her had herded her through the smoke-choked corridors, Evan clutched tight against her chest, his small face buried in her neck.
She could feel his heart racing against her own, and every instinct in her screamed to get him away from the burning walls, the howling and the blood, but there was nowhere to run to.
They rounded the corner toward the old stone cellars where the pups and elders had been gathered for safekeeping, and Willow saw the guards who should have been stationed at the door lying still on the ground.
Above them, three Bloodmoon wolves prowled toward the huddled group inside, teeth bared and hackles raised.
The escort at her side lunged forward to meet them and went down almost at once beneath the larger attacker, a spray of crimson painting the stone.
"Mama." Evan whimpered.
