The wind carried his scent long before I saw him.

That same bloodline scent I used to cling to for comfort as a child back when I didn’t know my cousin Thad would grow up to become the very storm I’d have to face.

Now, it only burned.

A warning.

He was near.

The note on the wolf’s body was still fresh in my hand.

“Blood always calls to blood.”

And the blood calling mine?

I wanted war.

We buried the fallen scout before sunrise. His eyes haunted me. Open. Frozen. ...