Rowan stepped across the broken doorway as if he already owned the air inside the cabin.
His boots crunched on the splintered wood, his gait unhurried, almost casual. Twenty wolves fanned out behind him, their blades drawn, their eyes bright with the hunt. The morning light caught the silver broken-chain embroidery on his coat and made it gleam like a fresh brand, a mark of ownership that seemed to glow against the dark fabric. His face was calm, almost pleasant, the face of a man who had already calculated the odds and found them in his favor.
"I am almost impressed," he said. "You lasted the night. Most would have bled out or turned on each other by now." His gaze moved from Darius on the bed to the raw mark on my forearm, his eyes tracing the still-healing edges. "But the game is over
