Damon's POV
The forest floor crunched under my boots as I tracked Marcus through the darkening woods. Pine needles, wet earth, and the unmistakable stink of Scott's favorite lapdog filled my nostrils. I kept downwind, letting the evening breeze carry my scent away from him.
I crouched behind a thick oak as Marcus paused, his head lifting to scent the air. Amateur. He'd always relied too much on brute strength, not enough on strategy.
When he turned his back, I pounced.
We crashed through the underbrush, a tangle of claws and snarls. He was strong—Scott only hired the best—but I'd been fighting monsters like him for over a decade.
"Traitor!" Marcus spat, landing a solid punch to my ribs. The crack echoed through the trees, pain blooming across my side. "Your father will have your head!
