"Charming welcoming committee," Liora muttered under her breath.
"Don't speak unless spoken to," Lyander replied quietly, eyes scanning the wolves ahead. "These aren't the kind you win over with pleasantries."
She arched a brow. "And what do you win them over with? Threats? Blood?"
Lyander didn't answer. He'd been here before—years ago, briefly, and not by choice. The Stonefangs had no love for outsiders, and even less for diplomacy. They were a pack ruled by brute strength, pride, and the old ways of dominance. If they sensed even a hint of weakness, they'd devour it.
Including us, he thought grimly.
He could take down a handful of them—maybe even more if it came to it—but against the entire pack? That would take a miracle. Especially with Liora right in the middle of them.
"Protect her. That's our number one priority. I don't want her hurt or out of our sight." His wolf's voice echoed firmly in his mind, more insistent than usual.
