The silence in the grand bedchamber of the Blackfang Fortress was thin, brittle, and freezing. Kaelen knelt completely motion-less on the edge of the heavy mattress, his massive nine-foot Alpha frame casting a monumental shadow across the stone floor plates. His large, scarred palms were still pressed flat against the curve of Gwen's abdomen, his fingers tattered and bleeding raw silver mana where the sharp platinum friction lines had cut through his skin.
He closed his vertical golden eyes, drew the freezing air deep into his broad chest, and began to hum.
