The narrow square of Shieldhold was unnaturally quiet. Silver moonlight poured over the walls, casting a single figure’s shadow.

Hambart leaned against a boulder at the corner of the ramparts, staring at the empty square, his chest heavy with gloom. Everyone else was inside the feast hall, drinking and laughing freely. But he’d come outside. All around him was darkness and loneliness.

Hambart thought of the last time he’d seen his home village, when he’d left. It had been just as silent and somber, with only a single snow locust tree standing at the entrance, silently mourning the village’s former bustle. He felt Shieldhold was the same now—asleep.

A light breeze stirred, kicking up dust from the ground and stirring memories in his heart.

Hambart had once been a hunter from Northwood Village, revered as a warrior for his strength and unmatched archery skills.

A year ago, while hunting in the woods, he’d saved a beautiful young girl. She’d said she was an apprentice swordsman from the south, training in the north, when she’d been attacked by a beast and injured her leg. Hambart had never seen anyone as beautiful as her, and he’d fallen instantly. He’d carried her back to the village and let her stay in his home to heal. While tending to her wounds, he’d courted her fiercely.

His affection had been returned quickly. As soon as her leg healed, she’d married him. That first month of marriage had been the happiest time of his life. He and his wife hunted by day, and by night, they’d sit by the roaring fire, savoring the sweetness of love.

But the good times didn’t last. Ever since the girl had arrived in Northwood, villagers had been found dead, stabbed to death. Experienced villagers had examined the bodies and concluded the killer was a werewolf—and they’d suspected the girl.

Blinded by love, Hambart had refused to believe his wife was a wolf. He’d defended her fiercely, repeating the same words to anyone who tried to persuade him:

“I know she’s not a wolf! Don’t try to talk me out of this!

If I’m protecting her, then I’m her equal! You can suspect me of being a wolf!

But one thing’s clear—if you want to kill her, you’ll have to kill me first!”

Thanks to his stubborn defense, his wife had escaped suspicion again and again. The villagers had had to turn their suspicions to others, but each time, another villager would be found dead—proof they’d been wrong.

Until finally, only Hambart and his wife were left in the village.

When the truth was revealed, Hambart’s world shattered. His wife was indeed a wolf—a Wolf Beauty.

The hunter had been blinded by false love, and in doing so, he’d killed his entire village.

The Wolf Beauty hadn’t wanted to kill him. She’d begged Hambart to come with her to the Outer Wastes. She’d said beyond the Frostwall, there was no order—only freedom, where wolves and humans could marry.

Hambart knew she cared for him, but he couldn’t keep making mistakes. He had to pay for what he’d done. So he’d drawn his bow and shot her in the back, a fatal arrow.

“Hey.” A voice came from behind him.

Hambart turned and saw Ashan. It’s her!

Ashan walked toward him. Even ten steps away, he could smell her perfume. As she drew closer, his long-dormant heart seemed to stir again.

Ashan stopped right in front of him, her bright eyes fixed on his. Up close, Hambart suddenly noticed her striking face bore a faint resemblance to his wife’s. Was that why he’d felt that inexplicable jealousy in the hall? His mind was in chaos.

Hambart stepped back, only to hit the stone wall—he had nowhere to go.

“Why are you out here alone when it’s so lively inside?” Ashan’s eyes seemed to sparkle with words.

“I got drunk. Didn’t want to make a fool of myself in front of everyone.” Hambart’s voice was hoarse. He didn’t know why he was lying. The truth was, he’d left the hall because he couldn’t bear to see Ashan drinking and flirting with other men.

“I noticed you in the hall. You sat in the corner drinking the whole time, and you kept staring at me. Admit it.”

Hambart’s face flushed. He had stared at her for a long time, and he’d never thought she’d noticed. “I… uh… was just curious…” The awkwardness felt familiar, for a moment bringing back the memory of his first meeting with his wife.

“Curious about what?” she pressed.

“Uh… you’re a Demon Hunter, right? Why did you come with the sorceresses?” Hambart thought quickly, finally coming up with an excuse.

“I’m an Apprentice Demon Hunter. I was training in the northern snow woods a few days ago when I ran into a group of sorceresses heading north to the Frostwall. I decided to come with them to see the Wall—it’s part of my training. Is that a problem?” Ashan smiled, tilting her head and staring at him.

“N-no…” Hambart avoided her gaze.

“Why are you avoiding me?” Ashan pressed her curvy body against his.

A bone-melting tingle spread from where they touched. He nearly groaned aloud. The fire he’d barely suppressed flared up again. She’s so much like her…

“No…” Hambart said the word, but his body didn’t move away.

“A man never says ‘can’t’—especially not a man guarding the Frostwall.” Ashan wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed his cheek.

Hambart’s body trembled, his mental defenses crumbling. He couldn’t resist the surge of desire this sexy, bold woman stirred in him. I want her!

He opened his arms to pull her into an embrace, but Ashan stepped back, leaving him clutching at air.

“So eager? One little test, and your true colors show?” She blew him a kiss.

Dammit!

Hambart’s face turned bright red, and he froze in place.

“If you want me, you’ll have to be more proactive.” Ashan smiled, then swayed her devilish hips as she walked back toward the feast hall, humming a love tune.

Hambart knew he’d been played, but the brief, heady rush she’d given him was intoxicating—familiar. He stared at her graceful back, unable to look away. Once, he would have rushed after her, slung her over his shoulder, and carried her to his bedroom without a second thought. But after what had happened, he’d grown calmer. I can’t make the same mistake again.

Hambart didn’t follow her. He watched her figure disappear around the corner, then shook his head and bent to pick up his brass wine cup from the ground. Half of the wine was still inside. He drained it in one gulp, the cold wine dousing the fire in his chest. Come with me… He thought of his wife.

He set the cup down and climbed the cold stone stairs to the top of the Frostwall.

“Stand at the highest point of the Wall, take a piss toward the end of the world, and let everything go to hell!” he muttered to himself.

Hambart stood on the Wall’s crest. As far as he could see, only one sentinel was on duty, curled up in the corner of a crenellation, snoring loudly. Hambart didn’t pity him—if he could, he would have traded places with the sentinel.

He stared ahead at the endless tundra, a vast expanse of white stretching to the horizon, a silent, snowy painting. Listening to the howl of the wind and feeling the cold of the snowflakes, his heart finally calmed. He was the only Seer here—he couldn’t be a wolf. His mind cleared, and he suddenly understood something. If Orek was innocent, then the suspect was…

Just then, a sharp sense of unease washed over him.

“Who’s there!”

He turned to look, but felt a cold sting in his back. The blade burst through his chest. Werewolf!

Hambart realized what was happening instantly. Despite the searing pain, he threw himself to the side, breaking free of the attacker’s grip, and pulled his crossbow from his belt. All these movements happened in the blink of an eye, even after he’d taken a fatal, unguarded blow—a testament to Hambart’s unshakable combat skill.

“You!”

He saw the killer’s face, and it was the last person he would ever suspect. The crossbow was in his hand, but his shock made him miss the fleeting chance to counterattack.

The attacker grabbed his wrist, and the wolf-headed blade sliced through his neck. The crossbow clattered to the ground.

Hambart fell into a pool of blood.

We can finally be together again…