Dark Growlers Pack.
“So, Zion already knows.”
Alpha Draven’s deep voice echoed through the dim throne hall of the Dark Growlers Pack.
The black stone walls reflected the faint glow of the torches, casting long, distorted shadows across his tense face.
“Alpha Zion has already suspected who’s wielding Morghen’s power,” he continued, his tone rumbling like distant thunder.
Isolde stood a few paces behind him, her head bowed. Her black gown rustled softly as her long dark hair cascaded over her shoulders, catching the red shimmer of the torchlight.
“He’s always cautious, Father. Zion isn’t an ordinary Alpha. If he’s already suspicious, it means he’s preparing.”
“Preparing?” Draven scoffed, a mocking laugh rumbling from his chest. “He might prepare, but he’ll never be ready to face us.”
