The walk back to the central yurt was a slow, punishing trek through the deepening twilight. The snow, once a pristine canvas for their training, was now churned and stained where they had collapsed together. Andrea's legs felt like lead, her body humming with a mixture of cold-induced exhaustion and the lingering, throbbing heat of Viktor's claim.
Every breath she took felt like swallowing glass, the thin mountain air stripping the moisture from her throat. Beside her, Viktor walked with a renewed, predatory vigor, his hand locked firmly around her waist as if he expected the wind to try and snatch her away.
As they passed the perimeter yurts, Andrea felt the eyes again. The pack was silent, but the air was thick with the scent of their recognition. They didn't growl; they simply watched the White Wolf lead his marked healer back to his den. The hierarchy had been settled in the snow, and for now, the human was undisputed territory.
