THORNE’S POV
The air in my father's office wasn't air; it was pure ozone, dense and charged with a static electricity that would have made any lower-ranking wolf collapse.
My father was sitting behind his imposing oak desk, his hands clasped and a ferocity in his eyes that only a Superior Alpha can project.
Meanwhile, I remained standing in front of him, my fists so tight that I felt my own claws piercing the flesh of my palms. My jaw ached from clenching it so hard; I felt that if I opened my mouth, words wouldn't come out, but a roar that would demolish the building's walls.
"I have sent for Miss Maren," my father blurted out, finally breaking the tension with a voice that carried centuries of authority. "We are going to resolve this matter before our family name ends up in the camp
