The herald’s voice died in his throat, a strangled squawk that was swallowed by the sudden, heavy thud of the oak doors hitting the stone walls.
But it wasn't the Silver-crest Alpha who stepped into the light.
It was Alpha Eugene.
And he was carrying a head.
The severed head of a man, blood still dripping from the jagged neck wound, was held by the hair in Eugene’s clenched fist like a trophy.
The entire hall froze.
For a moment, no one moved. No one breathed.
Then someone screamed.
It was one of the servants—a high-pitched sound of pure horror that shattered the stunned silence like glass.
My father stood so quickly his chair toppled backward, clattering against the stone floor.
“What in the gods’ names—” he started, but Eugene cut him off with a laugh. A laugh that was pure ma
