The air inside the pack estate hung heavy and still. There was a stark contrast to the usual crackling tension that saturated the den of Caspian Thornecrest, Alpha of the Thornecrest Pack.
Without delay, I plated a simple sandwich and poured a cup of black coffee. Just enough for me.
Within seconds, Caspian strode into the dining hall, every movement deliberate, his Alpha presence rolling off him like heat from a furnace. The dominance aura pressed against my skin, an invisible weight that lesser wolves would have buckled beneath.
For a moment, he paused beside the long table. His pale eyes shifted to the empty place where his breakfast used to sit.
He drew a breath, about to speak, but before he could form the words, one of his wolves entered the room. Grimshaw. His gaze was lowered, neck slightly tilted in deference to his Alpha.
He wore dark tactical gear, the leather holster at his hip carrying a silver-tipped blade that glinted under the morning light. He stopped several feet from Caspian, keeping the respectful distance expected of a Beta addressing his Alpha.
"Alpha, our scouts have confirmed it. The wolves who attacked Vivienne yesterday belonged to Lysander Ironvale's pack."