The ritual was over, but the fire in the Blackthorn pack was only beginning to spread.
The night belonged to the victory banquet—a tradition as old as the bloodline itself. This time, the Anderson family had seized the reins, hosting the gala at their sprawling mansion. Every figure of consequence was there, from the power-hungry merchants to the grim Elders of the Council.
But all eyes gravitated toward the man of the hour: Adrian.
"Adrian!" "A toast to the heir!" "Tell us—what does it feel like to be chosen?"
Caius, wearing the identity of the lost prince like a second skin, moved through the elite circles with the predatory grace of a wolf in silk. From the moment he crossed the threshold, he was the banquet’s center of gravity. Between his Alpha pedigree and his towering, chiseled
