Silas POV
The ice in my tumbler melts into a lukewarm puddle, but I don't touch the liquor. I keep my fingers wrapped around the heavy crystal, my gaze tracking the reflection of the Silvercrest guards standing by the VIP archway.
They think they are being subtle. They think a Southern Alpha doesn't know what a containment perimeter looks like.
My wolf is a low, jagged snarl in the back of my ribs, tasting the air. The heavy scent of Lir's pine-and-frost authority just flooded the upper corridor minutes ago, suffocating the faint, sweet trace of winter mint.
He locked her in and that got a dangerous, lethal heat flare up in my chest, but I force my posture to remain relaxed, leaning back into the leather armchair of the Oakhaven Grand’s lower lounge. Let the North think I am just a des
