The moon was a tiny silver blade above the broken Standing Stone when Savannah woke. She sat straight upright on the ash-covered ground, breath sawing in her throat as if she had been drowning. Heath was immediately reaching for her, hands seizing her shoulders before she could wriggle away.Her eyes were no longer crimson. They were white (pure, brilliant white), like moonlight poured into glass. The pupils had faded, leaving only vast winter sky. Every wolf in the clearing froze. Savannah peered through Heath, past him, into something none of them could see. “Heath,” she said, and her voice was layered (hers, and something enormous beneath it). “It’s not over.” He gripped her face, pushing her eyes to his. “Talk to me. What do you see?” She shuddered, her body shivering as though ice water rushed through her veins. “The Syphon Stone was never Beau’s,” she muttered. "It was a leash." A plug. He was merely the cork in the bottle, despite his belief that he was the master. Sca

At morning, the wound reopened. With sheets drenched in dark blood, Heath awoke gasping. His side's silver scar had split in half, with light green flashing at the margins (Umbral corruption, patient, and smiling). It might be pushed back for hours, not days, by Savannah's white fire.Mason stood above the cot, his face etched with concern and aged oak. He stated plainly, "It's rooted in the tether now." It learns her signature each time she heals you. Soon, it won't even be touched by her power. Heath sat up, suppressing a moan. "We cut the tether after that." The longhouse was filled with Savannah's growl. "I'll burn this valley myself if you try it." Mason disregarded the danger. "One remedy remains. glowing moss. only grows three days west in the Howling Caves. Umbral corruption is like wine to it. Twenty years ago, I used the last of it on a dog that had gone too far. saved his life. Nothing else will. Heath clenched his jaw. Legend had it that wolves entered the Howling Ca

At dark, with firelight flickering over the ruin of Heath's side, they put him on the longhouse table, stripped to the waist. The wound had opened wide once more, with green fire licking at the borders and black lips gaping. Corruption beat in time with his heart, bringing the decay one finger's width closer to his throat with each beat. Mason worked quickly. In order to make the luminous moss shine like liquid starlight, he mashed it into a dazzling paste and combined it with moonroot liquor and silver dust. Savannah gripped Heath's hand so firmly that her knuckles became white. The pack remained outside as Scarlett and Vance stood watch at the door.Mason commanded, "Hold him." Heath's legs and shoulders were pinned by four wolves. He didn't engage in combat. Mason applied the paste straight to the wound. Heath let out an unearthly scream that ripped from his throat. On touch, the moss ignited (blue-white fire shooting through tainted veins, searching for every Umbral darkness

Savannah started to crack as the moon became weaker and the evenings grew colder. It began modestly. When she raised a cup, her left hand trembled. An uncontrollable flash of shadow that could lovingly round a sleeping puppy's dreams or lash out to smash a pottery bowl. The pack took note. They remained silent. They just pushed the breakables out of her line of sight and feigned not to notice her terrified expression.Heath witnessed it all. She was barefoot in the frost when he discovered her on the palisade before daybreak, gazing north as if she could see through the horizon. The shadows at her feet writhed like eels, and her breath came in white clouds. Without turning, she uttered, "I dreamed again." "They're nearer." Despite the ice on the rails, Heath paused behind her, near enough to feel the heat radiating off her skin. "Tell me." Her voice seemed distant and lifeless, as though she were repeating someone else's nightmare. "The Hollow Beneath the World is where I stood

Ten Alphas and their seconds, five hundred wolves huddled in uncomfortable circles around a single blaze, gathered under the large dead tree at the neutral crossroads. No banners flew. Honor guards are never more than fifty paces away. The wind and the approaching dead moon were the only observers. With a silver wolf-mark burning on his naked chest, Heath stood at the center of the fire. Savannah waited at his side, shadows wrapped tight like a shawl. Jasper stood on either side of them, axe across his back, arms folded. Behind them, with their arrows loosely nocked (just in case), were Scarlett and Vance.The others showed up apprehensive, arrogant, and craving evidence or blood. First was Roric of Stone Fang, towering, scarred, with eyes the color of winter steel and silver pelt across his shoulders. Beside him came Lira of Dusk Hollow, tiny and lethal, twin curving knives at her hips. Eyes hazy yet piercing, Old Fenrir of the Mist Marsh hobbled in on a staff of bones. Seven more