Damien
The pack house was suffocating with tension.
The stone walls that once echoed with laughter and camaraderie now vibrated with distrust. I stood at the center of it all, beneath the ancient crest of the Vanderwood line, trying to hold a fractured world together with fraying hands.
“Damien,” Declan’s father sneered, voice thick with accusation, “you haven’t addressed the Council’s request.”
I didn’t flinch. “Because it’s not a request. It’s a threat.”
Gasps echoed, followed by mutters that moved like wildfire through the chamber.
The war table, once used for strategy, now turned battleground- had the entire inner circle gathered: elders in their cold silence, young warriors watching like circling vultures, and my father’s allies eyeing the room as if waiting for a cue to pounce.
