Third Person POV
Alpha Wyatt paced the cold stone floor of the great hall like a predator trapped in a cage of his own making. Each step echoed against the vaulted ceiling, mingling with the low growl in his throat. Fury simmered beneath his skin—lethal, coiled, and patient. For now.
His nephews had failed him. Again. Arrogant, undisciplined brats who thought their name meant power. Now they were rotting in the King’s filthy dungeons, chained and disgraced. Their capture was an insult. A stain. A weakness he could not afford.
He clenched his jaw so hard he heard it creak. “Idiots,” he spat under his breath. He should’ve let them die. Let them scream until their bones broke and their minds shattered. It would’ve sent a message. It would’ve cleansed the bloodline.
But he hadn’t.
Because
