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unit.”
“None of their covens?”
“No. And no sign of Iskra or Petrah.”
Manon swallowed. The Matrons truly had
come alone. Had flown in from wherever
they’d been gathered, and somehow found
them.
Or tracked them.
Manon didn’t let the thought settle. That
she may have led the three Matrons right to
this camp. The soft snarls of the Crochans
around her, pointed at Manon, said enough of
their opinion.
The wyverns settled, their long tails curling
around them, those deadly poison-slick spikes
ready to inflict death.
Rushing steps crunched through the icy
snow, halting at Manon’s side just as Dorian’s
scent wrapped around her. “Is that—”
“Yes,” she said quietly, heart thundering as