Meanwhile,
Author
The Council of twelve Alphas was a gathering of raw, untamed power—a room filled with the scent of old leather, cedar, and the sharp, ozone tang of dominant pheromones. These were the lords of the North, men who had carved their territories out of the permafrost with claw and steel. Their designated heirs sat behind them, shadows of future legends, each trying to maintain a posture of stoic indifference.
At the head of the Leviathan-bone table sat the Lycan King.
Usually, the King was a shadow in the room—a presence so cold and lethal that his silence was more terrifying than most men’s roars. But today, something was fundamentally wrong.
The King was humming.
It wasn't a war chant. It wasn't a low, rhythmic growl of disapproval. It was an absent-minded, lightheart
