Jeremy Anderson’s POV
Alpha Reed Michaels never needed a throne to feel like a king. He was born into the role and carried it with a quiet gravity, the kind that didn’t need ceremony to be acknowledged. The pack respected him instinctively, and neighboring packs treated his name with the same careful regard. Authority clung to him not because he demanded it, but because he embodied it.
His office reflects that restraint. Well-maintained, unmistakably expensive, but never ostentatious, the way my mother’s estate is. No excess meant to impress. Stone and glass rise above the rest of the stronghold, overlooking the valley like a constant, deliberate reminder of who has always been watching. From here, nothing moves without notice. Late forties, silver threading his dark hair, posture still
