The snowstorm had turned the world into a white blur, and for a moment, the battlefield felt like it was swallowing sound itself. The only things that cut through the muffled silence were the clang of steel, the crunch of boots in the snow, and the deep, primal growls of wolves locked in a deadly struggle.

Draven was a black streak against the storm, molten gold eyes fixed ahead as he tore through the enemy line. His claws raked down a rogue’s chest in a spray of crimson, his body moving ...