POV: Daniel

The first howl cut the fog like a knife.

Wolves.

Not strays—Soldiers. Ranks. Training. Purpose. Rank. They smelled it on me as they approached—power, like sharp teeth. Wet fur and iron and old graves. Waiting for the edge of dawn, waiting for Clara’s scent to become ripe with what I had lain inside her. Waiting for me to fall into the trap of thinking that I was safe and alone. That I wouldn’t feel them coming.

Fools.

The tether ripped ...