~Darien's Point Of View~
…
THREE YEARS LATER
The air in the Alpha's study smells of unsheathed steel. Outside, the sky over Duskwind is the color of a fresh bruise, purple and angry, reflecting the carnage that has stained the pack lands red.
Darien stands by the mahogany desk, his fingers trembling as he cinches the leather straps of his tactical chest plate. His movements are jagged, fueled by adrenaline and a cold, visceral terror he hasn't felt since the day his brothers died.
Thirty-five.
The number loops in his mind like a funeral dirge. Thirty-five pack members, consisting of mothers, sentinels, and three children were found in the early hours of the morning, their throats opened professionally and bodies arranged in a mockery of a ritual.
"They are coming for the heart, Darien," Kairos, his wolf, growls.
His voice is usually the anchor of reason that keeps Darien's temper in check. But today, even Kairos sounds like he's pacing a cage of thorns.
