The Bracken Woods I know what darkness means

The offer was placed—potential death within the icy clutches of winter’s ferocity, or potential death at the grasp of strangers. Either was a risk—one held more certainty of holding true than the other, and so the Mayfair gave a single nod to the other man who awaited answer.

Silvertongue’s relief was palpable—her words spoken as the exhale of air from her lungs misted in the frigid temperatures. He rounded beside her, his own form shielding her from the other man’s should anything go awry as they allowed themselves to be lead back by a wolf who, for some strange reason, was also out traipsing in the heart of a snowstorm.

It was these suspicions he held at bay—a mask of stoicism in place upon his features as he remained as silent as the silver she-wolf he traveled with.