Gorgon lay in the center of the marble crater, his elegant velvet coat shredded and soaked in a mixture of his own black ichor and the neon-green light he had stolen. His limbs were bent at impossible angles, but the regenerative power of the fairy blood was a cruel gift- it kept him conscious, forcing him to feel every fracture as it tried, and failed, to knit back together under the weight of the Alpha’s presence.
"Wait," Gorgon wheezed, coughing up a spray of dark fluid. He reached out a trembling hand, still trying to grasp for the invisible threads of Southern law. "The transaction... the three bags... they are legally binding. You can't... the High Council will see this as an act of war. I gave the gold back! I followed the protocol of reclamation!"
Fenris didn't move. He stood
