A suffocating dread gripped my chest.
The Night Walker Pack.
A fate worse than death.
The silence that followed was suffocating, as if the entire courtyard had collectively lost the ability to breathe.
A sharp gasp escaped my lips before I could stop it. Even someone like me—who had been scorned, ridiculed, and treated as an outcast my entire life—felt sheer terror claw at my chest at the mere mention of that name.
The Night Walker Pack.
A realm ruled by the infamous Lycan King, a monster of a ruler whose name was whispered only in hushed, fearful tones. His reputation for brutality was legendary, and it was said that the severed heads of those who dared defy him were impaled along the borders of his territory as an ominous warning to all.
His warriors were demons of both strength and cruelty, and his captives—well, those unfortunate enough to be claimed as his slaves rarely lived long. The horrifying stories that seeped past those cursed borders were enough to paralyze even the bravest of wolves with fear.