The Grand Hotel’s private dining room was a masterpiece of southern opulence—high ceilings draped in crystal chandeliers, mahogany walls lined with portraits of dead generals, and a table polished to a mirror shine. The air smelled of bourbon, leather, and the faintest undercurrent of gun oil.
At the head of the table, Alpha Elias dominated the space without lifting a finger. His tailored suit did nothing to soften the predator beneath, his dark beard threaded with silver, his knuckles scarred from battles no human could fathom. He sliced into his steak with deliberate ease, the blood pooling like ink on fine china.
Opposite him, Joseph Forrester sat like a man braced for a firing squad. The CEO of Forrester Holdings—and secret head of the Hunter’s Guild—kept his hands flat on the table,
