Zeraphine’s POV
The packhouse was filled with heated voices, echoing through the grand hall. Lyrian stood at the center, his hands curled into fists, his face red as fire. Around him, the elders argued with quiet firmness, their calm demeanor only fueling his frustration.
“This is madness!” Lyrian barked, his voice echoing off the tall, decorated walls. A massive Christmas tree stood in the corner, its ornaments glittering in gold and red, but the festive beauty was overshadowed by the storm brewing in the room. “Draven abandoned this pack years ago. He doesn’t deserve to come back and take what was never rightfully his!”
An elder with silver-streaked hair stood his ground, speaking with deliberate calm. “The agreement was clear, Lyrian. If Draven returned, he had the right to challenge
