Asher's POV
Eight Years Ago .....
The moon was hung high in the sky. A pale silver glow, cast over the clearing. The air was filled with the reassuring stench of damp soil and blood. Still fresh from the execution I had carried out hours ago. The pack was quiet, but I knew they were awake, waiting — watching. They always watched.
I leaned against the wooden railing of my chambers. I had a half-smoked cigar pinched between my fingers. I didn’t even like the damn thing. It was something I picked up from my father — a habit I despised but found myself slipping into when the weight on my chest became too heavy.
My father...
The old bastard's name alone was enough to twist my stomach into knots. He ruled this pack with fear, making men cower and women break. I hated him for it — hated how
