The moment Liora stepped into the heart of the packhouse, a strange silence fell over the air—as if even the wolves outside held their breath.
It wasn't what she expected.
No rustic lodge or bare-bones structure, but a massive stone estate built into the mountain itself. Grand arches, carved murals of wolves in mid-hunt, thick oak doors reinforced with iron.
Everything about it screamed strength, tradition, and power. The hallway stretched long and shadowed, lit by flickering torches instead of electricity. A strange choice for a modern Alpha, but one that made sense the more she walked deeper.
And then, at the end of the corridor in one of the rooms—he was there.
Henry.
The Alpha of the Bloodhowl Pack.
He shouldn't have been. Not yet.
He sat near the hearth, a small figure dwarfed by the ancient stone walls of the packhouse, legs swinging just slightly from the edge of a leather chair too large for him.
