HAYES
Alpha Rylan was the only neighboring male I had not killed yet. For six years, our packs had shared a jagged, blood-soaked border along the high western ridge. He ran the Nightshade pack like a machine—disciplined, cold, and heavily armed. We had traded heavy blows in the mud during the autumn rains, broken each other’s ribs in multiple border skirmishes, and eventually signed a treaty because neither pack could afford a full war. I did not like him. But I respected his strength. He was dangerous, and today he was standing in my hall without my permission.
The massive iron-studded main doors groaned open. A sharp blast cold air hit the room, throwing white snow across the stone threshold. Rylan walked inside and shook the powder from his heavy gray furs. He looked entirely calm. Hi
