Aa—ooh! I cried. Aa-ooh! A cry of agony that seemed to split my chest apart.

  At first I thought it was an echo – my call coming back to me. To my surprise, I heard another cry, and then another. A wolf was howling at me.

  I eyed a tawny wolf bounding towards me through the snow, its tail erect. As it sprang forth it transformed into a man. “Wolf!” he cried.

  “Wolf,” I responded. We sniffed each other and decided that we both seemed friendly. “Who are you, friend?”

  “I am one who is not interested in fighting any war,” he shot back. “So if you're here to recruit me...”

  “I'm here for information,” I said. I sniffed the air again – Breena had definitely been here. “Have you seen a young woman being dragged through these parts?”

  “A young woman?”

  “About five foot seven, long brown hair. Sparkling eyes – like, the most beautiful eyes you've ever seen. Sixteen years old. Human. Lips like roses.”

  He smiled a wry smile. “Someone you care about?”

  “Someone who's gone missing. She could have been taken by a pixie.”

  “Not a pixie, no,” the wolf came closer. “I saw something – but it's risky telling tales in these parts.”

  I took a coin from my bag and threw it onto the snow. “Does that give you more confidence?”

  He eyed the coin warily before pouncing upon it. “It does,” he said. “I saw the girl you mean – and a lovely thing she was too. Only that was no pixie she was with. That was the Winter Prince.”

  “The Winter...” My eyes opened wide. I thought back to the picture – that face that was so familiar to me. The face Breena had seemed to love. A face I must have recognized too – for my grandfather had often told me of the childhood I spent in Feyland, and the missions I had carried out when only a boy for the Winter Palace. I had forgotten those days, but instantly it all made sense. My heart sank.

  For I knew what the Winter Prince was meant to do. I had heard talk of him. He was beautiful and cruel – he felt nothing but contempt for those around him. He was the most savage fighter on the battlefield, for he of all the fairies did not crave blood, even the blood of those he despised. He simply cared nothing for it; he would kill a hundred fairies in a single second if it meant preserving his honor. He could look death in the eye and simply shrug. This made him more dangerous than even the most bloodthirsty of pixies. And I knew too that he loved women: that he, like all fairies, loved the idea of seducing women from beyond the Crystal River. That one kiss from his icy lips could turn a mortal mad. Is that who had taken Breena? The Prince Kian, set upon turning my beloved Breena into one of his asylum-bound conquests? I shuddered to think of it.

  “They say his kiss kills mortals,” said the wolf, not unphilosophically. “If it doesn't send them insane.”

  “I know,” I snapped.

  “Then you'd best be on your way after them.”

  “Which way did they go?” I sniffed the air. Their scent was getting fainter now.

  “I can't quite recall,” the wolf shrugged.

  I thrust down another coin and he pointed towards a range of mountains in the distance. “Further in,” he said. “Towards the Palace.”

  I gave him another coin for his troubles and, before he could demand another, morphed back into my wolf form, running as fast as I could towards the mountains.

  Chapter 2

  Things were worse than I thought. If Delano had taken Breena, I could have relied on both my wolf compatriots and select fairy friends of the family for support. Those in my clan would have supported me, and the fairies who owed us favors – and there were quite a great number of those – would have been happy to pitch in if it meant pulling one over on the hated pixies. But if the Winter Prince had Breena, things were trickier than that. No wolf worth his salt would be willing to make a hasty decision about where he stood on the Fairy Wars, especially not to rescue some girl. It was hard enough trying to get wolves to commit to fighting in the War when it meant joining a wider clan army; no individual wolf was stupid enough to risk entering fairy politics simply because I had asked him to. As for fairies, they would be equally reticent to do anything that could worsen the hostilities between Summer and Winter. As Winter Prince, it seemed, the Ice Prince Kian could do what he wished with impunity. He could go beyond the Crystal River, take whatever woman he wanted, make her fall in love with him, make her insane...

  My heart ached at the possibility. Could Breena really let herself be seduced by such a rake as Kian? No! She was too brave, too headstrong, too powerful to turn into just another simpering mortal at the drop of the proverbial hat. But I thought back ruefully to Breena's paintings. For years I had seen that man's face upon her canvas; for years I had watched as she lovingly traced the contours of his cheekbones, or dropped dabs of blue paint onto his irises. I had feared then that this man might be the Winter Prince, trying to solidify his hold on her from across the Crystal River, but I had discounted such fears as paranoid. But now I knew it was true. Whatever danger Breena might be in from Delano and the pixies, it was nothing compared to the threat Breena faced from the Winter Fey.

  And I had failed to protect her. I had failed to keep her safe. Some Wolf Prince you are, I told myself, scowling inwardly. If you can't even manage to keep the woman you love safe from harm, how do you expect to rule a whole clan of wolves.

  Why hadn't I realized the threat sooner? Why hadn't I fought harder against Delano? Why didn't I just tell her that I feared her paintings were of the Winter Prince, that the love she felt for him was no doubt the result of his dark magic, that her dreams would – with him – turn to nightmares?

  You fool, Logan. You're responsible for her now. If anything happens to her, it's on you.

  I ran faster and faster through the snow, ignoring the cold. Normally, when I transformed into a wolf, I was able to push human concerns out of my mind. I was able to focus on the immediate, the sensual, the animal. The wind in my ears. The snow against my fur. The smell of the sap pouring out from the pine trees. But not this time. My worry seemed to circulate through me like blood through my veins.

  At last I approached the mountains the other wolf had pointed out to me. The cliffs rose above me, jagged and austere. It would be an arduous climb up, I knew, but I had no choice. There was only one path into the mountains, and if the wolf had been telling the truth, that meant that Breena was at the other end of it. Alive or dead.

  I bounded up the mountain path, keeping close to the mountainside as the ridge grew narrower and steeper, snaking up and down around the side of the cliff. I nearly lost my footing three or four times, scrambling to avoid plummeting to my death on the rocks below, but I kept on running. This was no time for fear. I had to keep going.

  At last I reached the top of the mountain, but as I stepped forth, my heart sank. The path forked here, left and right diverging so wildly that there was no way I could test both paths without wasting hours of time. Breena's scent and that of the Winter Prince were gone by now; I would have to go on instinct.

  If I was right, I was sure to find her.

  But if I was wrong...

  Suddenly, I thought I heard Breena's voice, echoing like a bronze bell inside my head. I bowed my head to the earth, my ears pricked back, overwhelmed by the power of the sound.

  Logan, help me. I'm in this house – it's by this mountain with pink snow on the top. You have to help me. I don't know what's going on. I've been kidnapped...

  And then the voice went silent.

  I looked up in confusion. “Breena?” I called, shouting wildly. “Breena, where are you?”

  There was no sign of her. But to my left, in the distance, I could see a mountain covered with pale snow, the color of a first blush. Was this what Breena had meant? Or was her call to me only an illusion?

  I reckoned I didn't exactly have much choice. I might as well listen to my instinct.

  I turned left and headed further down the path.

  A few miles later, as the pink mountain gleamed in the distance, I thought I heard footsteps alongside me – the first sign of life I had seen in these wild and barren parts since the wolf I had left behind.

  I whirled around quickly, but nobody was there.

  “Hello?” I called warily. I wasn't sure if I wanted to meet the bearer of the footsteps – in these war-torn parts, there was a fine line between friend and foe. “Hello? Is anyone there?”

  My answer was a sharp blow to the head.

  I staggered back, falling into the snow. “What the...”

  A spry figure leaped forth, raising his hand as if to punch me again.

  “Not so fast!” I rushed towards him, tackling him to the ground. “What the hell do you think you're doing?”

  The creature responded with a laugh. “Hey, let me go!” His words were slurred and his breath smelled like firefruit whisky. “Let me out of here! Want no trouble with you.”

  He wriggled under my grasp.

  I looked down at the figure. It wasn't a fairy, as I'd feared, nor was it a wolf. Rather, this diminutive creature – half-man, half-goat – was a satyr, and a particularly hairy one at that. He smelled strongly of alcohol and unwashed fur.

  “What was that all about?” I stared him down.

  “Nothing, nothing...just let me go!” the satyr squealed. But before I could make a decision about whether or not to show mercy, the satyr kicked me squarely in the groin, making me flinch just long enough for him to jump up and vanish behind a tree.

  “Come out!” I called towards the tree. “What do you want with me?”

  I took a step forward, only to receive a square kick from behind.

  I tumbled forward. “How did you...?” I looked up, only to see the satyr's shadow before mine. I dashed at him, my hands aiming for his neck, only to see him vanish before my very eyes. “Stupid Wolf!” the satyr cried. “You think you can best me? Big dumb lumbering creature – you haven't got a chance!”

  “Not so fast, you little twerp,” I muttered. When the satyr reappeared a few yards off, I was ready for him, leaping on him in a full-body tackle.

  “Skinny little goat!” I couldn't resist striking back with words as well as force. “Is this how you really talk to your betters?”

  “You ain't my better!”

  “I could sink my teeth into your neck if I wanted – only I don't want the taste of filth on my breath all afternoon...”

  “If I was sober, I'd put you down like the dog you are!”

  We continued fighting a while longer – the satyr combating my strength with his incredible agility – but at last I managed to restrain him. He kicked and wriggled beneath my grasp, but this time I was ready for his trickery. I sat down square upon his chest, squeezing his lungs with my knees. I grabbed one ankle in each of my hands, pulling his goat's legs up from the ground. “Now,” I said, “I think it's time you tell me what you're thinking by attacking me.”

  “Peace! Peace!” the satyr squeaked. “It's nothing – you shouldn't be here. Under orders, I am! To let every single passerby go by...I mean, to not go by...” He hiccupped loudly. “I mean, I'm supposed to stand guard. Only nobody's come. So I got a little bored. Figured I'd drink a bit of firefruit brandy to keep warm, you know what I mean? Not a single person allowed to pass. No sirree. Not one!” He let off a pungent belch.

  “Guard?” I said. “What are you guarding?”

  “Nothing,” he said. “Nothing at all. What makes you think I'm guarding something?” His eyes grew wide.

  “You just said...”

  “No I didn't – hic! - no sirree. No guards here.” He laughed a little too loudly.

  I looked down warily at this pathetic creature. Once subdued, it became clear that this satyr wasn't much of a threat. And I was probably more likely to get the information I needed by letting him talk.

  “So you're not a guard,” I said.

  “No! Just an innocent passerby, just like you!”

  “But you attacked me!”

  “So it was just a casual misunderstanding. Nothing personal, sirree! Nothing personal. Now if you'll just let me go and be on my merry way, I won't bother you any more...”

  “Going anywhere interesting?” I asked, mock-casually. The satyr seemed to have slipped back into a bit of a drunken stupor, his adrenaline evidently wearing off. “I'm sure a satyr like you has an interesting life – what did you say your name was?”

  “Pan,” murmured the satyr.

  “I'm Logan,” I said. “And you look awfully tired. Maybe you want another drink?” I handed him my flask of warming brandy juice. I had hoped to keep it in case the weather got too cold even for wolf fur, but a bit of espionage seemed like a more pressing reason to use it.

  “Thanks!” Pan gulped down the liquid gladly. “Hey, you're not so bad, Logan. No matter what Kian said...”

  “Kian doesn't like me?” I asked, as nonchalantly as possible. I didn't want to let Pan figure out that I was onto him.

  “Thinks you're going to steal his girl,” he laughed. “And he needs her as bait. If he wants to get his sister back from Summer Court. He plans to use the girl as a hostage. But he told me you'd be coming after her. Said he sensed wolf on his trail.”

  “Must be hard being a Winter Prince,” I sighed. “So stressful. He must try to get away from the palace sometimes. I know when I'm overwhelmed by wolf duties, I escape to my hiding place.”

  “Yeah, a hiding place,” murmured Pan. “Somewhere nice, warm. With brandy juice.”

  “Kian must like having a hiding place like that. I have a cave near the Purple Mountains. Such a nice, warm place. So comfortable. Where do you and Kian go?”

  “Not so far,” sighed Pan. “Just across the Black Pass. A few miles up the road. He's got a hunting lodge there. A nice place. Big fire. Full cellar! Emerald roof.” And then his eyes opened with fear as he realized what he'd said. “Uh, forget what I've just said,” he added quickly. “I didn't say anything.”

  “I'm sure you didn't.”

  “You forgot what I said?”

  “I forgot,” I patted Pan on the shoulder.

  “Good,” said Pan, passing my flask back to me. “I think I'm going to head off now, if you don't mind.” He staggered off.

  I took a sip of the brandy juice myself. It was getting cold now, and although I didn't want to get drunk, I wanted something to heat my blood.

  And then I started to grow sleepy. Very, very sleepy.

  That little...

  Even while drunk, that hairy-legged bastard had managed to sneak a sleeping potion into my drink.

  “You come back here!” I staggered forth but it was too late. The effects of the drug had taken over, and I fell into the snow, snoring before I even hit the ground.

  Chapter 3

  The dream had overtaken me again – the very same dream. This time the path I traveled was familiar to me – I was gliding once more over the jagged mountains, overlooking the lush green valleys. Even in my dreams I could smell their fresh and intoxicating fragrance: jasmine, lavender, honeysuckle, rose. I breathed in deeply, inhaling the delicious aroma of the flowers. I knew this place now; the cave I felt myself enter was familiar to me. I was now standing once more in that same opulent cavern: the cave of the Red Wolf. The frescoes were still all around me; the mosaics still shone in the lamplight, casting shadows around my feet. But the cave was empty now. My ten thousand soldiers had all vanished.

  “Hello?” I called out.

  This time the echo traveled through the whole cavern, repeating itself again and again. “Hello! Hello! Hello!” The very walls of the cavern seemed to shake with my cry. Where had everyone gone? I looked up, beyond the stalactites, to catch a narrow glimpse of the sky through the single, small hole drilled through the top wall of the cave. It had gone dark now, and I could see a few glittering stars amid the inky black veil of night.

  And then I was gliding again, unable to control it, traveling faster and faster out of the cave and across the snowy plains. The landscape was deserted; I could make out neither birds of the air nor creatures crawling upon the earth. And then, in the distance, I spotted what looked like a black forest on the white side of a barren mountain. My feet seemed to move even faster towards them, and as I flew closer I realized that what I was seeing was not a forest at all, but rather an army.

  Ten thousand strong.

  And the Red Wolf, his hair long and matted but still golden, his eyes flashing with desire for battle was leading them. I flew closer and closer to the Red Wolf, until it seemed that I was about to collide with him, but he did not see me.

  And then we had collided – and yet did not collide – for now I was inside the body of the Red Wolf. I was looking out through his eyes, seeing what he saw, just as I had done in my first dream. I was the Red Wolf again.

  “It is time to fight,” I heard myself say. “Men, women, soldiers all – now is no time for fear. Say your goodbyes to the life you knew; prepare yourselves for the most difficult fight you will have to face. The Dark Hordes are here.” My wings – his wings – spread wide. “We must fly, soldiers! We must survey the battlefield.”

  And then I was flying – not merely gliding but actually flying – my wings flapping to keep me aloft. My heart started beating faster. To be able to fly, fly as the Fey could do – for centuries Wolves had mourned this lost ability, dreaming of the ancient days when wolves could fly alongside fairies. Grandfather used to tell me that he knew another Wolf in his youth who had, as a child, seen his own grandfather fly – but the idea that any one of us could be lifted into the air like this...why, it was unbelievable.