The ancient Blackwood Hall stood deep in the old-growth forest, a massive stone structure carved into the cliffs overlooking the Sound. Torches flickered along the walls, casting long shadows over the gathered Alphas. The air was thick with power — dominant scents clashing like thunder, the metallic tang of barely-contained violence heavy on every breath.
Damien Blackwood walked into the conclave like he owned the night itself. Tall, broad-shouldered, silver threading his dark hair, his presence alone made lesser wolves drop their eyes. His scent — dark sandalwood, aged whiskey, and raw Alpha dominance — rolled off him in waves, making even rival pack leaders shift uncomfortably.
I walked half a step behind him, heart hammering. My body was a living testament to his claim: the unmistakab
