The scent hit him first.
Blood. Fear. Weakness.
Damien Cross stood at the edge of Silvermane territory, hidden in the tree line where Thornwood's wards had grown pathetically thin, and breathed in the evidence of Nathaniel Thornwood's slow destruction.
The mighty Alpha. The golden child. The perfect heir.
Dying because his human mate was too scared to complete a bond.
Damien's lips curved into something that might have been a smile if smiles weren't supposed to contain warmth.
"Beautiful," he murmured to the darkness.
Beside him, Marcus, his enforcer, shifted weight.
"The wards are weaker tonight. We could breach them. Take her now while he's vulnerable."
"No." Damien's voice was soft, controlled. The kind of soft that made grown wolves flinch.
"Not yet. Let him suffer a little
