Lucian
My father rose slowly from his seat, his presence commanding. The hall fell into a thick, reverent silence as he fixed his gaze on the man shackled before him.
“Alaric Moongrove,” he began, voice calm—but brimming with disgust, “you are a sick, twisted bastard.”
Alaric didn’t flinch, but his jaw tightened.
“You coveted my wife for her wealth. And when you couldn’t have her, you murdered her. Just so you could force yourwife into my life to finish what you started—kill my son and me, and take everything. The money. The title. The island.”
He paused, eyes hardening.
“But let me tell you a secret, Alaric. One you didn’t know. If all Alpha Mark-bearing Nighthorns die, there will be no Alpha left on Mooncrest. None. And every Alpha Mark on this island—all of them—will fade. Because
