The full moon hung heavy and silver above the pack's ceremonial grounds, its light casting everything in stark, unforgiving clarity. I stood at the edge of the stone circle that had witnessed countless leadership challenges over the centuries, my hand resting protectively over my belly where our child seemed to sense the tension crackling through the air.
Dante stood in the center of the circle, and even from twenty feet away, I could see the tremor in his hands. He'd managed to dress in his formal Alpha attire—black leather pants and a ceremonial vest that left his arms bare to display the intricate tattoos marking his lineage—but the clothes hung looser than they should have. Three weeks of the life-bond drain had stolen pounds he couldn't afford to lose.
Around us, the entire pack had
