Three years had passed since the day I walked out of the Bloodmoon Pack Hall and severed the final chain that bound me to a life of quiet desperation.
The morning sun over the Shadowfall Valley painted the jagged peaks in shades of brilliant rose and gold. Standing on the high marble loggia of the Envoy Citadel, I wrapped my silk robe tighter around my shoulders, breathing in the crisp, pine-scented air. Below, the city of Shadowfall was alive with activity—merchant caravans displaying flags from across the four continental quadrants queued at the lower gates, while scholars and envoys bustled through the stone courtyards.
At twenty-eight, I barely recognized the ghost of the woman I used to be. The pale, hesitant mate who walked on eggshells in Damon Vance’s estate had been replaced by
