Darius's POV
I lounged in my chair, swirling a glass of whiskey in my hand, savoring the calm before the storm. Damon was alive. Alive. That useless excuse of a woman swore he wouldn’t survive his sickness, and yet here he was, prancing around like the Moon Goddess herself kissed his forehead.
“She lied,” I growled, the whiskey burning down my throat as I slammed the glass onto the table. “She said he’d die, and I let that pack of mutts live because of her.” My lip curled in disgust. “A waste of time and trust. Never again.”
“She helped us,” Clad, my wolf, dared to chime in. His voice, that low rumble in my head, irritated me more than usual. “Without her, we wouldn’t have defeated Damon’s warriors—”
“Do you think I don’t know that?” I snapped. “What use was it when Damon’s still breat
