Talia felt it first—her firstborn's anger, his rage.
Talia’s eyes snapped towards him, green irises sharpening, the wolf pushing near the surface. She knew Reign. She knew his temper—or rather, his lack of visible temper. Rage belonged to Luca. Cold calculation belonged to Ash.
Reign was supposed to be the calm center.
This was not calm.
“Reign?” she murmured, barely moving her lips.
He forced his shoulders to relax. “I’m fine.”
He wasn’t.
Across from him, Lucian settled a heavy hand on the table, not touching his son but grounding the space between them. His power rose, steady as a mountain.
On Lucian’s right, Dorian went utterly still. His gaze followed Reign’s line of sight to the Black River table, to the “servant” behind Sienna, then back to Reign’s face, all in one smooth swe
