I was halfway across the first ridge when the howls began.
Not threat-howl.
Challenge.
Three figures broke from the mist ahead—wolves in their half-shifted forms, eyes glowing in the murk of dawn, fangs bared in silent appraisal. Blackfang border sentinels.
I raised my hands slowly. “I come under contract summons.”
One of them, taller than the others with ash-gray fur rippling beneath her skin, tilted her head. “Name.”
“Elira of Silvermoon.”
A flicker of recognition passed between them, but it was not respect.
“Former Luna,” another corrected flatly.
The truth struck harder than claws.
I swallowed. “Nicero Blackfang called me.”
The sentinels circled.
“He doesn’t summon broken wolves,” the ash-gray female said. “He claims them.”
Her gaze dropped to my shoulder where the mate-mark scar still burned faintly beneath my cloak.
“So tell me, Silvermoon castaway,” she said. “What did you trade to cross our border alive?”
“My future,” I replied without hesitation.
The sentinels stilled.
After a long moment, she nodded once. “Follow.”
They did not escort me like a guest.
They herded me like a weapon.
---
Blackfang territory was nothing like Silvermoon.