"Where is the Council?"
Alessandro reined his horse beneath the black pines and looked toward the narrow road disappearing between the trees, his voice carrying across the cold night with the quiet authority of a man who had learned that danger rarely announced itself honestly. Luca Bianchi rode a few paces behind him, his gaze moving constantly from the dark forest to the ridge above the road, while Victor Salazar dismounted and studied the abandoned roadside marker that should have carried the insignia of the northern territories but had been deliberately stripped bare. The wind moved through the branches overhead with a restless whisper, carrying the scent of wet earth and pine resin, and Alessandro felt an old uneasiness settle beneath his ribs as he remembered something Roberto had told him during his first year as Alpha: never underestimate a desperate enemy, because desperation makes intelligent people reckless and reckless people difficult to predict.
