The glass sphere held in Lucien's trembling hand pulsed with a rhythmic, sickening blue light. It was a Soul-Anchor, an artifact of forbidden Harlow magic designed to trap the final essence of a dying shifter. For Gwen, the sight was a physical blow to the chest. The golden light that usually radiated from her skin flickered and died, replaced by a cold, hollow dread.
"You… you monster," Gwen whispered. "You didn't just kill him. You caged him."
Lucien's laugh was a jagged, wet sound. The black rot on his neck seemed to thrive on his malice, the veins bulging like crawling worms. "I kept him for a rainy day, Gwen. I knew your loyalty was a fickle thing. I needed a leash."
Kaelen stepped forward, his shadow stretching across the floor until it touched Lucien's boots. The temperature in the room plummeted. "Lower the sphere, Lucien. You are standing in the heart of the Crimson Fang. You will not leave this room alive if you break that anchor."
