Darius’s POV
It was a crazy morning. I hadn’t expected any guests at all, not after the gunfire before dawn. I only invited Lycus—but somehow, I ended up welcoming a few weirdos.
I was burning inside with intensity. This wasn’t rage. Rage is for amateurs. This was something else—something older, darker. The kind of anger that waits ten years to pull a trigger. The kind that buries pack brothers and sends flowers to their widows.
“How dare—” I said, my voice low, rough, like ash and ice. “They dare to attack me? They must think they can take—” I paused, letting the silence stretch like a blade.
Then I looked at each of them running off with their injured, one by one, slow and staggering. I watched them like I was choosing coffins.
My wolf stirred restlessly beneath my skin, thrilled by
