The night was dark and still, the only sounds the steady chirping of crickets and the distant howl of lycans on patrol. The crescent moon hung high in the sky, casting a thin silver light across the path that did very little to push back the shadows on either side of it.
Milo walked with his shoulders hunched and his hands shoved into his pockets, his footsteps heavy on the dirt road. He had just come from the special care centre where his son was being kept, and the visit had left him in a worse state than before he went.
They had refused to release the boy to him. Told him they needed the King's approval first. The King's approval to take his own son home.
His beast churned inside him, dark and restless, pushing at the edges of his control with the persistent pressure of something that had been caged too long.
Milo's hands clenched and unclenched inside his pocket as he walked. He would not give it what it wanted. Not tonight.
