ROMAN’S POV
The war room smelled of cedar and old parchment, and I had chosen it deliberately, because a room built for treaties reminds every Alpha inside it that Moonwolf does not negotiate from weakness.
Six pack leaders sat around the long table, their auras pressing against mine in the low, testing way that Alphas use when they want to know exactly how far a king can be pushed before he pushes back.
I sat at the head of the table with my hands folded, my face arranged into the stillness my father drilled into me before I was old enough to understand why it mattered. Rogue packs had burned two border villages in the last month alone. That was the only reason these men had been permitted past my gates, and I intended to keep the conversation exactly there.
"The rogues move faster
