Ravyn moved through his pack like a general preparing for war.
The Blood Moon Festival loomed on the horizon, and with it came a thousand details demanding his attention. Warriors to select. Patrols to arrange. The timing of their departure, calculated down to the hour.
Every decision weighed on his shoulders, pressing down like stones piled one atop another.
Those left behind would be the old folks, wolves who had no need for mates, who could hold their own if trouble came knocking.
Voren had already assured every pack in his invitation letters that he had eyes watching their territories in their absence. Not only a generous but also a strategic gesture.
But Ravyn's gut churned with unease because his pack was exposed. The Lycans had already slithered through their defenses once. Who was to say they wouldn't try again?
His thoughts circled back to Daisy. The dungeon was the only place she couldn't escape from due to its cold stone walls, iron bars, haunted atmosphere.
