Swiftcurrent Creek bayou

He would have commented on a shared cousin—any other time, Akavir would have taken a certain enjoyment on sharing their family tree history, determining where they aligned in blood. Given the rather tumultuous few days and the implied accusations of the earthy man, though, the swarthy wolf was feeling far less inclined to do so.

Family was everything to the man—but not when it came down to placing blind trust in a potentially dangerous stranger.

Though the more the wolf spoke, the less harmful he seemed. Deceit was a hard thing to trace, and the creek wolf’s champagne eyes drifted over the other, pointedly studying him.

“No, I don’t imagine we are done fighting,” he rumbled, the distaste clear in his voice. Wolves like that didn’t take to being defeated overly well—and given the red wolf’s complete lack of trust in them, he only imagined they would be back. She was turning out to be a lost cause.

Next, though, drew a snort of amusement from the stoic—his eyes fast upon the other, disbelief pulling at his lips. “And you think a mediator will talk a rowdy gang from trying to kill us a second time?”