She stepped up onto the base of a nearby stone planter, cupping her hands around her mouth. “Listen!” Her voice, sharp and clear, cut through the noise. A few heads turned. “Move to the main courtyard! Go now, in an orderly line! Help the elders!”
She pointed toward the wide, open space away from the burning stalls, her tone brooking no argument. The nearest shifters, caught between terror and command, instinctively followed her direction, creating a flow away from danger.
Kovrak, already at the edge of the blaze, glanced back. He saw her there, not cowering, but directing. Sensing his mate in partnership with him in crisis, he let out an approving shout.
“Listen to Faith!” he commanded as he moved toward the burning stalls.
Faith’s feet hit the cobblestones just as a tremor shuddered through the ground, a deep, threatening vibration that shook her to the core. It was the thunder of heavy, running bodies.
But not human.
From the mouth of a shadowed side street, twenty massive wolves burst into the light, their movements a coordinatedblur of muscle and snapping jaws. They were bigger than any Earth wolf, their eyes holding a feral, calculated intelligence that chilled her more than simple animal rage.
Her gaze sliced through the smoke. There, on the periphery, Varrek was melting into the retreating crowd. He turned and gave the scene one last glance, and his green eyes landed on hers across the chaos. His split lip curled in a smile that was pure, cold satisfaction.
Icy clarity washed over her, burning away the last of her fear. This wasn’t a freak accident or a random rogue attack; it was a meticulously staged demonstration of Kovrak’s supposed weakness. Varrek’s weapon wasn’t the wolves or the fire—it was the narrative. The prince, smitten with a fragile human, lets his people burn.
“Oh, hell no,” Faith whispered, the words swallowed by the roar of the flames.
She would not be the excuse for his failure. She would be the proof of his strength.
Theirstrength as a partnership.
A roar tore the sky, a sound of such primal authority it seemed to momentarily still the very air. Kovrak’s form blurred, his body contorting in a flash of impossible motion. Where the prince had stood, a massive white tiger now crouched, muscles coiled beneath a pelt like fresh snow marked with jet-black striping. Thalen shifted beside him, and a ripple of transformation followed as a line of his warriors became a wall of striped, powerful predators. The sight was breathtaking—terrifying beauty unleashed with singular purpose.
The clash was immediate. Tigers met wolves in a whirlwind of fur, claws, and deafening snarls. It was brutal, elegant chaos of pure power. Her heart hammered, screaming for her to find Kovrak in the fray, to ensure the white tiger with the ice-blue eyes wasn’t falling beneath grey fur.
She wrenched her gaze away. Trust. That was the terrifying part. She had to trust him to do his job so she could do hers.
“This way! Move!” Her voice cut through the din. She grabbed the arm of a dazed elderly man, his eyes wide with smoke and confusion. “You two!” she barked at a pair of younger shifters. “Take him. Follow that line to the courtyard. Now!”
She became a whirlwind of deliberate motion, her mind working with sharp, efficient clarity. She tipped over heavy water barrels, sending cascades across cobblestones to create a damp barrier between the advancing fire and a narrow escape route. She directed families around burning vendor frames, her hands firm and her instructions leaving no room for debate. The fear was a live wire in her veins, but it fueled her, sharpening every sense.
Then, a sound, thin and desperate, pierced the air. A child’s cry.
Faith spun. Through a veil of smoke, she saw him—a little boy, no older than five, pinned under the collapsed beam of a food stall. Embers danced in the air around him, landing perilously close to his tunic.
Logic fled. Instinct took over.
She lunged forward, the heat from the nearby flames warming her skin. The beam was monstrously heavy as she threw her weight against it. Her muscles screamed. With a guttural sound of effort, she heaved, and the beam shifted, just enough.
“Come on, sweetheart, I’ve got you.” Her voice was rough with smoke. She dragged him free, his small body light in her arms. “Run that way, to the blue banners. Run and don’t look back!”
He scrambled away, his sobs fading into the din. Faith took a gasping breath. She turned to retreat. Then a sharp, splintering crack overhead was her only warning.
The world erupted in a shower of sparks and agony. A burning support, weakened by the fire, gave way. A searing weight crashed across her shoulder and back, driving her to her knees. White-hot pain lanced down her leg as something heavy—another piece of the stall—trapped her ankle. She was pinned, the yellow fabric of her sundress smoldering where embers caught, the hungry fire licking dangerously closer. Smoke coiled thick and black, choking her. The roars of the tigers sounded distant now, muffled by the roaring in her own ears.
This is it. After everything, I’m taken out by a falling food stand.
A bitter laugh caught in her throat, turning into a cough that racked her whole, trapped body. She hoped the boy made it to his parents. She hoped Kovrak would handle the crisis and that everyone would be safe. She hoped he knew how much he meant to her.
Then, through the blurring haze, hands. Strong, sure hands gripped the wreckage pinning her leg. The weight lifted with a grunt of effort.
“Foolish, brave girl,” Merral’s voice, strained but steady, reached her.
“Got you!” Liora’s arms hooked under her shoulders.
Together, they hauled her upright. Her ankle gave a sickening throb of protest, refusing to hold weight. The world tilted sideways from the smoke inhalation. She clung to them, her saviors, their faces streaked with soot and determination.