Nash’s pov
A full year had passed since Chloe walked down that border ridge, yet the Red Moon pack house felt as cold and empty as a tomb.
I sat at the massive oak desk in my study, the parchment maps of the southern territories spread out before me under the dim lantern light. Reports from my border patrols sat stacked in neat piles, every single one of them ending with the same frustrating conclusion.
No trace of Chloe. No trace of the rogue camp.
My back throbbed with a dull, aching heat where the scars of my ten lashes had raised into thick, pale ridges. The physical pain was nothing compared to the violent, clawing fever that surged through my blood every time the full moon neared. Without my mate beside me, my manic blood curse was slowly eating me alive.
A soft knock echoed at
