Byron didn’t know what he expected.
Not this.
The Moon Pack’s territory unfolded like a dream too big to belong to him—an expanse of green stretching into the horizon, flanked by stone gates and towers that caught the sun like glass. The air itself seemed cleaner here. Richer. Every building was polished and perfect. The power here wasn’t just seen. It was felt.
He’d parked his beat-up old truck just outside the gates, the engine ticking as it cooled. It looked laughable against the manicured drive.
He adjusted the collar of his coat as the guard radioed in his arrival, pretending he didn’t notice the slight twitch of distaste on the man’s mouth. Byron didn’t blame him. He felt like a trespasser, too.
“You’re cleared,” the guard said. “Alpha Dakota will see you at the packhouse. Follo
