Carson
When you’ve planned something out to the tiniest of details—using a fold, one the weres mistakenly failed to close, to march a massive contingent of hungry ferocious vampires into the snowy sleeping midst of your rival’s territory and cursing their own raised dead to send battling against them, then drink the blood of a god, becoming one yourself so you can take captive your rival’s reigning queen—to suddenly find yourself spectacularly upstaged after all that damn work, well, it grates on you.
A lot.
It was irritating enough when the Candlewood alpha made his grand entrance to my plaza mayhem by f*****g dropping out of goddamned nowhere, pulverizing an entire building to absolute rubble, complete with rolling thunder and a superhero pose. But when he stands up buck naked, flamin
