CIARA
The grand hall of the Blackthorn pack house was a suffocating tomb of gray stone and low, hostile growls.
I stood completely alone in the center of the floor, my posture locked rigid as the high-backed chairs of the pack council loomed over me from the raised dais.
"The initialization window has officially closed, Alpha," Elder Vance’s voice echoed off the high, vaulted ceiling, flat and completely devoid of empathy. He sat at the center of the table, his gray eyes tracking my form with the cold evaluation of a man looking at a broken piece of machinery.
"The morning results from the pack doctors are empty. The Riverstone female is not pregnant. Her body is actively resisting the Blackthorn lineage, just like we predicted."
A low, rumbling murmur of agreement rippled through
