Zeir sprinted as quickly as the wind, or, more accurately, as fast as his four legs would allow. The snow slowed him down. His nose grasped the invisible link that began on Agatha's body and traced its way down to her abuser. Zeir knew the alpha's scent, but it didn't cause him to lose momentum or think twice. Hardulf was not his alpha.
Hearing voices, he stopped behind a bush at the edge of the forest. Peeking above the snow that covered his hideout, Zeir found the one he sought. His bronze eyes glittered with the rage that bleared from his heart.
He couldn't figure out why he was feeling that way. For thousands of years, he had fought in every war with no hard feelings, simply a sense of duty and morality. It was no longer the same. Zeir despised that wolfman and desired nothing more than to take his neck between his fangs.
