CHAPTER 159
The air in the Alpha's study was thick with the scent of old parchment, cedarwood, and the suffocating weight of expectations.
Alaric stood by the polished desk, his hands shoved deep into his pockets to hide the slight tremor in his fingers.
Every second he waited for his father felt like a slow crawl over broken glass. He adjusted the collar of his shirt, feeling an itch where a mate's mark should have been—a mark that was conspicuously absent, hidden only by the assumption of an entire pack.
The silence in his head was what truly haunted him. His wolf was a restless, grieving shadow, pacing the confines of his mind with a low, mournful whine that hadn't stopped for a year.
Since he turned eighteen, the void where a soul-bond should be had felt like a wound.
Now, with Selena having turned eighteen as well, that void had become a screaming silence.
