The rain had finally stopped over the Blood Moon territory, but the damp, freezing fog that rolled off the northern mountains offered no comfort. Devandra walked down the subterranean corridors of his ancestral estate, his heavy, rhythmic footsteps echoing against the raw stone walls. Behind him, Marcus and Jaxon followed in absolute silence, their wolf instincts picking up the intense, volatile storm brewing within their Alpha’s aura. Devandra’s golden eyes were dark, shadowed by a profound, fracturing truth that had completely upended his understanding of the supernatural hierarchy.
They reached the lowest level of the fortress—a place hidden behind a massive, four-ton vault door forged from cold iron and ancient silver runes. This was the Sanctorum of Records, a forbidden archive that
