Jace
Blackthorn’s war room smells like old blood and wood smoke.
The scent clings to the timber beams, the scorched firepit, the long table where we gather. It sticks behind your teeth. Even when no one’s actively bleeding.
Yet.
The way this meeting is going, that could change soon.
Mara slams her palm on the table. “Enough waiting. He’s gone rogue. We find him and we put him down. He’s not really a part of our pack and he’s a distraction to Ronan.”
The room doesn’t flinch. There are a few twitching brows, a grunt of agreement. Wolves don’t gasp. We bare our teeth.
“He’s not a stray,” I say quietly, leaning forward. “He’s bound. Marked. You kill him, you break Ronan.”
Mara sneers. “Ronan is already breaking. That Omega is poison. He’s got the Alpha scent-drunk and agitated while R
