Kieran
The scent of parchment, aged leather, and the lingering trace of dried blood filled my study. The quiet crackle of the fireplace did little to ease the tension in my chest.
I stared at the map before me, tracing my finger along the red markings—signs of unrest, disappearances, and whispers of rebellion.
America was falling apart.
Not in an instant, not in a grand explosion of war, but in small structures that deepened with every passing year. The humans here had already been brought to their lowest, yet they still clung to defiance.
I should have admired their resilience.
Instead, it irritated me.
Because if they fell apart, so did we.
A sharp knock at the door broke my focus.
"Enter."
The heavy oak door swung open, and Damon Kade strode in without hesitation. His tall frame was wrapped in a black coat , a single dagger strapped to his hip. His dark brown eyes flickered with their usual sharpness—Damon never looked relaxed, always watching, always calculating.
His loyalty to me was absolute, but that didn't mean he wasn't a pain in my ass.
He tossed a parchment onto my desk. "We have news."
I exhaled, leaning back. "We always do."
Damon smirked. "Then this will come as no surprise."
I picked up the parchment, scanning the contents. My jaw clenched.
"Garrick Thorne is summoning a gathering?" I muttered.
Damon folded his arms, watching me carefully. "That's what he's calling it."
I scoffed. Garrick never did anything without a reason. The Moon Warden of America—a man who ruled with an iron grip and a taste for power—didn't waste time on pleasantries. If he was calling a gathering, it wasn't for diplomacy.
It was for control.
"A political gathering," I repeated, setting the parchment down.
Damon snorted. "That's what he's claiming. But knowing him? He either wants to show off or force a decision we won't like."
That sounded about right.
"Do you want to refuse?" Damon asked, though he already knew my answer.
I did want to refuse. I hated stepping foot in America. The corruption. The imbalance. The way humans were treated like pests waiting to be picked. But ignoring the summons would be seen as a challenge. And despite my dislike for Garrick, I wasn't foolish enough to walk into a political war I didn't need right now.
I exhaled slowly. "Prepare the convoy. We leave at dawn."
Damon gave a mock salute. "Yes, Moon Warden."
I rolled my eyes. "Get out."
Damon had been my second-in-command for over a century.
We met on a battlefield—on opposite sides. He had been a mercenary back then, a rogue wolf with no pack, fighting for whichever side paid him most. We should have killed each other that night, but fate had other plans.
I spared him. Not because I was merciful, but because I saw something in him—a brutal strategist, a survivor, a man without illusions.
He had been by my side ever since.
"If this gathering turns into a disaster, do I have permission to break a few necks?" Damon called over his shoulder as he reached the door.
I smirked. "Do you ever wait for permission?"
He grinned. "Not really."
The door shut behind him, and I turned back to my desk.
My gaze landed on the eastern region of America—the human quarter.
Once, long ago, the supernatural world had flourished in secrecy, coexisting with humans in the shadows. Then the war changed everything. The centuries of bloodshed had wiped out most of their population, leaving them on the edge of extinction.
And yet, they still fought.
That was the dangerous thing about humans. No matter how broken they were, no matter how outmatched—they never stopped resisting.
I knew that better than most.
I traced a finger over the map's borders, a quiet thought settling in the back of my mind.
Garrick didn't summon leaders for no reason. Something was coming.
And I had a feeling I wasn't going to like it.