Meanwhile,
Author
Lycan King Malphas - the Demon Alpha of the North - sat at his desk of polished obsidian, the heavy silence of the Citadel only broken by the frantic, rhythmic scratching of charcoal against parchment.
The shadows in the room seemed to lean in, curious, as the final stroke was laid. He pulled the paper back, his silver-gray eyes - a shade that made men’s knees buckle - now shimmering with a boyish, almost manic delight.
"Exquisite," he whispered, his voice a low vibration that made the crystal decanters on the sideboard hum.
He had captured it all. The defiance in her gold-crimson eyes, the sweat-slicked tangles of her golden hair from the fever of the Purgatory, and the way her lips had curled in a snarl that was half-agony and half-reclamation. To anyone else, it
