The cold, damp mountain air bit sharp against my skin as the third-party guard shoved me out into the clearing.
My boots dragged heavily through the wet gravel, my knees buckling with every single step. The wolfsbane coursing through my blood felt like liquid lead, heavy, metallic, and suffocating. My wolf remained dead silent deep within my chest, completely locked away beneath the heavy haze of the poison.
"Keep moving," the guard grunted from behind me, the cold tip of an iron dagger pressing firmly against the center of my spine.
I squinted through the thick, swirling fog, trying to take in my surroundings. The high-pitched creaking of the carriage wheels faded behind us as two heavily armed mercenaries escorted me down a steep, winding stone trail carved directly into the face of a massive, black mountain. There were no pack banners here, no familiar scents, and no signs of civilization.
