Jethro POV
"Get out of my face before I snap your neck."
Those words tasted like copper and old rage. I did not care who heard me. The pack house was buzzing like a hive of angry hornets, and my own skin felt three sizes too small.
"You need to calm down, Jethro," my older brother muttered. He did not look at me. He kept his eyes locked on the heavy oak table in the centre of the war room, his fingers sorting through a pile of folded papers. "We have a tournament to run. Mitchell needs the warriors focused. The whole kingdom is watching."
"The kingdom can burn," I said.
I slammed my heavy black laptop onto the table. The wood groaned under the impact. Adriel and Mitchell, my two nephews, did not even flinch. They were too busy acting like kings, though they looked more like exhausted
