VERON’S POV
My fingers drummed the scarred oak desk in my subterranean lair beneath the abandoned mill in BloodMoon Pack, the rough stone walls weeping moisture that trickled down like tears from forgotten gods, pooling in cracks where moss clung stubbornly. The air hung heavy with the coppery bite of old blood from sacrifices long past, mingled with the acrid smoke of burning sage and the sweet, cloying rot of moonflower petals I'd harvested myself under a waning gibbous two nights ago.
The Blood Moon's crimson light seeped through a jagged vent overhead, bathing everything in a hellish glow that made the shadows dance like eager demons. At the chamber's heart stood the altar—a hulking slab of obsidian hauled from sacred pack caves, its surface carved deep with interlocking runes: circ
