Chapter 5 · TheScent of the Heir

The boots stopped so close I could see the stitching. Double row. Black thread. Mud caked into the welt like the man had been standing in a swamp for aweek.

I was jammed into a rock crevice, face pressed against wet stone, one hand clamped over my ownmouth. My knees were submerged in freezing slush. My spine burned where the bond used to be.

Dorn stood three feet aboveme, scanning the ravine.

"Nothing down here," he grunted, his voice echoing in the gap. "Scent's cold."

"Cold how?" That was Bren, somewhere up the ridge. He soundedtwitchy. Ready to snap. "She can't just vanish, Dorn. Eleven days of nothing?"

Eleven days. Since the Obsidian Tribunal. Since four hundred wolves watched Valerius rip our bond out of me like he was pulling a nail froma board.

I didn't breathe. I just stayed still.

"Cold like she's dead," Dornsaid. "Which she is. Alpha signed the record. They found a body in the scree. There’s a ceremony Friday. Ashesand all."

"She’s not—"

"You want to argue with theAlpha’s signature?"

Bren shut up. Then, a radio clicked.

Dorn’svoice dropped, turning ugly. "Past the creek. Trail's gone. No. Nobody tells the Alpha. Youreport to Vane.