“He’s the son of our Alpha, the crown prince of our king,” the wolf shifter said.
It was the night before 9/11. Cameron sat in her room upstairs in the old house on the outskirts of Fairbanks, Alaska. From her bed, she watched the storm lash the
window outside, as she cuddled the wolf pup she’d rescued earlier that evening.
The wolf pup that had been yelping for dear life as an eagle carried it away.
The wolf pup she had spotted and heard and flung her hand out in desperation for.
The wolf pup that had fallen from the eagle’s talons, as if the bird of prey had been struck.
The wolf pup who had fallen, crashing into a tree and plummeting through branches, yelping in pain at every blow.
The wolf pup Cameron had climbed to reclaim from a hundred feet up.
The wolf pup she now held close to her heart, cradled in her hands, his eyes shut tight, his fur trembling as he shivered.
The wolf pup that was hers, she’d decided. If not for her, he would have been the eagle’s evening meal, his tender, warm, bloody insides torn from him as he struggled and screamed.
Cameron glanced out her window at the storm, holding the pup close. Her heartbeat raced as she stared out into the maelstrom.
Outside, a face stared back. The face of the black wolf charged with the pup’s retrieval.
Before the year was out, Cameron would discover her birthright, find out why a rogue band of nightmare fae had invaded and cursed the land, and find allies in a pack of wolf shifters in an age-old clash of deadly proportions – a clash in which she has no choice but to fight.