Lykaios's POV
The heavy doors of the pack council room usually offer me absolute silence, but today, the air inside felt suffocating.
I sat behind the massive obsidian desk, my fingers steepled under my chin, staring blankly at the tactical maps of our northern borders. The scent of dried blood, still lingered in the corridors of the pack house, a grim reminder of the public execution order I had signed just days prior.
Five hundred lashes. An Omega’s death sentence.
"Lykaios, darling, you haven't touched your tea."
Tara’s soft, purring voice cut through my brooding thoughts. She stepped up beside my chair, her fingers sliding over my tense shoulders. Her scent a calculated, cloying blend of sweet jasmine and vanilla was supposed to soothe my raging alpha instincts. Lately, howeve
