High Elder Vane and his armed enforcers arrived at the Blackwood estate precisely at noon the following day. Finnegan didn't even allow them to reach the porch. He met them in the driveway, the gravel crunching beneath his boots like grinding bones.
Finnegan looked down at Vane, his expression shifting from open, volatile hostility to a terrifyingly polite, dead-eyed mask. It was a look far more dangerous than any snarl. He took a deep breath, dragging the crisp mountain air into his lungs in a desperate attempt to bank the roaring furnace burning inside him.
Inside him, the wolf was throwing itself violently against the bars of his ribcage, howling for blood, demanding he tear the throat out of the bureaucrat who had dared to threaten his cubs.
"If you would like to step into my office
