At precisely midnight, they selected the hallowed grove where Heath had first taken Savannah from silver shackles six years prior. The air itself was heavy with old blood and old promises; there was no moon or stars. A memory that no one could ignore, the ancient oak still had scars from the shackles, pale against the black bark. Heath arrived with just 10 wolves: Scarlett had silver-tipped arrows at her belt but her bow was unstrung, Jasper was silent and stern, and Savannah was shrouded in living shadow. Silver-armed and breath-held, Vance and the other allied packs waited in a three-mile-wide ring concealed in the trees.Lila waited by herself under the oak. Tall, scarred, and with one side of her hair shaved to expose the brand he had burnt there as ownership, she had formerly served as Beau's battle chief. Now, black veins crawled beneath her skin like living tattoos, and her eyes flashed sickening green. She had her arms outstretched, no weapons in sight, and a smile too big f

At the first sign of dusk, they departed the valley, five thousand wolves moving as one. With their silver swords catching the last of the sun's red light, Crimson Howl and Ironwood marched side by side. At dusk Silently, hollow scouts ghosted down the flanks. Bone rattles sang quietly and mournfully as Mist Marsh shamans strolled barefoot. With eight banners whipping in the chilly wind and eight thousand paws rattling the ground like war drums, all the other allied packs had responded to the call that Stone Fang had rejected.With Savannah at his side on a white mare that appeared to have been carved out of the moonlight, Heath rode at the head on a black warhorse that had previously belonged to Beau himself. The slight pulse of the same mark, now seared into Savannah's left palm, was answered by the silver wolf-mark on his bare chest, which shone beneath exposed leather. The second heartbeat between them was louder than any drum, and the tether throbbed (alive, enraged, unbreakable

The weight of her made the grove shudder. Standing twenty-five feet tall at the shoulder, the White Wolf (no longer Savannah, or more than Savannah) was a mountain of muscle and moon-white fur, with living frost edging each strand. Like twin inferno, crimson eyes blazed. The frost crackled in the air around her, and beneath her claws, blood on the ground flash-froze into scarlet glass.Beau attempted to flee. He took three steps. She moved, but it wasn't a pounce or a lunge, just there. He was pinned to the shattered pieces of Standing Stone when one enormous forepaw struck his chest. He let out a moist cry as the collision forced the air from his lungs. Like charred paper, shadow flesh slipped from his bones. With nails that were stronger than steel against fur, he tore at her leg. "Mercy!" he said, his voice breaking into a tiny, human voice. "Sister, " The White Wolf's snout nearly touched his face as she lowered her head. Breath was released (ancient graves and winter storm)

The Umbral continued to arrive even after the circle beneath the oak closed. They poured from every shade in the grove, from the crevices in the air, from the hollows of broken trees, and even under fallen wolves. Hundreds turned into thousands. Hunger alone, a black tide with no structure.Less than 3,000 of the allied packs remained. Pressing his silver blade into her shaking palm, Heath pulled Savannah to her feet. Her eyes burned crimson once more, yet her human body was pallid and bleeding from a dozen claw-rakes. Her rage outweighed her tiredness. "Back-to-back!" Heath let out a shout. "Ironwood and crimson together! Hold on! Outward, the order spread. Wolves (former competitors, old enemies, now one pack under one moon) moved mindlessly. The center was made up of Ironwood and Crimson Howl, forming a perfect three-deep circle around the destroyed dais. Scouts from Dusk Hollow filled in the blanks. Ironwood berserkers and Mist Marsh shamans stood side by side. Blades of silv

Only the echo of their death scream and the smell of burned night remained as the final Umbral faded into the ground like smoke through crevices. The grove, illuminated by the first faint edge of a no longer-dead moon, was a cemetery of glass and frost. Three thousand wolves had entered on foot. Less than fifteen hundred were still alive.With his sword positioned point-down in the transparent glass that had once been quartz, Heath stood in the middle of the crater. The silver wolf-mark shone steadily, refusing to let him fall, even as blood spilled from wounds too numerous to count. With her bare skin painted crimson and black as shadows wrapped protectively around them both, Savannah clung to his side, human once more. Jasper then stumbled inside the circle. Shadow-claws tore the large Alpha's left arm, leaving it hanging useless. He had a dark, wet beard; a claw had sliced him open from collarbone to hip, exposing lung and bone. From the cut, black veins protruded (Umbral poison