A rogue is brought into the hall covered in blood and bruises with his head bowed but not broken spirit. Marco leans against the opposite wall of the room, and his arms are folded, and a quiet anger shows in his eyes. His warriors surround him; all looking anxious and anticipating a flurry of anger.
“Get his ass up,” Marco growls. His voice is low, guttural, and sends a chill through everyone present.
Two warriors yank the rogue to his feet, his legs wobbling beneath him. The rogue spits blood onto the floor and flashes Marco a cocky grin.
“Alpha Marco,” he sneers, his tone mocking. “Didn’t think you’d stoop to interrogating rogues yourself. Must be desperate.”
Marco takes slow, deliberate steps toward him, each one echoing in the silence. “You’re real f*****g brave for a dea
