The Wolf Primal filled the garden with his presence—not just physically, though his building-sized form defied the space's boundaries, but metaphysically. Reality bent around him like light through water. Akira felt his attention on her skin, under it, examining the marrow of what she was with the casual intensity of someone reading their own autobiography.
Daughter. His mental voice carried the weight of glaciers. Last pure one. You've diluted yourself with inferior stock.
The words struck like physical blows. Around them, world leaders pressed themselves into the earth as if they could burrow to safety. President Walsh's designer suit would never recover from the grass stains, but survival trumped dignity when gods walked among mortals.
"Not inferior." The words fought past her teeth.
