I pulled my wool cloak tighter around my bare shoulders, my dark eyes locked onto the camp, my jaw setting so hard my teeth ached.
"Alpha!" an urgent voice whispered from the tree line behind me.
I snapped my head around, my fingers instinctively curling into fists.
Wylie pushed through the dense pine branches, her sword drawn, her leather armor splattered with mud and dried foam. Four of my top elite trackers crouched right behind her, their broadswords unsheathed, their faces pale and exhausted from running through the night.
Wylie stopped dead in her tracks when she saw me standing there—bruised, bloody, but completely lucid.
"Goddess above," Wylie breathed, relief washing over her face so fast her shoulders sagged. She quickly unbuckled a spare leather vest and belt from her pack,
