(Bardolph POV)
Lobo’s challenge stood in the air before he spoke it fully, because Blackfang wolves knew the scent of power changing hands.
I had seen that scent around my father once, after he returned from Northridge with blood under his nails and songs in his mouth.
I had smelled it around Hrolf when he pushed me toward condemning Daciana before truth could defend itself.
Now it surrounded Lobo, dressed in noble armor, elder approval, and the same old hunger my father called duty.
Daciana held her mother’s crown near the open floor, and the fresh black feather lay below her like proof that danger still watched from within.
This was not the time for an Alpha challenge.
That was why Lobo had chosen it.
He knew fear made warriors hungry for simple answers.
And in Blackfang, simple
