The war room of the Blood Moon Pack was suffocatingly tense. The large circular table, carved from ancient oak, was surrounded by the five Elders of the pack. Their faces were etched with deep lines of worry and stern disapproval.
Kael stood at the head of the table, his massive hands planted firmly on the wood. He hadn't bothered to change his blood-stained clothes. His aura was dark, oppressive, and leaving absolutely no room for negotiation.
"A witch, Alpha?" Elder Gideon, the oldest of the council, scoffed, shaking his head. "You want to cross into the neutral territory to seek out the Shadow Weaver? Have you lost your mind? She deals in blood magic and curses. Her kind are the very reason the treaties were drawn up centuries ago."
"Watch your tone, Gideon," Kael’s voice was a low,
