Nixon’s POV
"Get them out of my sight before I rip their throats open," I growled, slamming both hands onto the dark oak surface of my desk.
The young pack guard flinched, his boots scraping against the polished floorboards as he took a hasty step back toward the door. His face went entirely pale, and his fingers trembled against the seam of his uniform trousers. He kept his chin tucked low, completely refusing to look me in the eye.
"They are already at the main courtyard steps, Alpha Nixon," the guard whispered, his voice cracking under the weight of my aura. "Luna Henley insisted. She said the laws of hospitality protect blood relatives visiting a new bride."
"Hospitality does not cover vipers," I snaps, my teeth grinding together so hard my jaw ached.
A sudden, violent wave of col
