The moment the call reached him, Alaric Knight turned his horse around, blood still drying on his blade, eyes sharp with fury. The cold air of the hills stung his skin as he galloped back toward the mansion, every beat of his steed echoing the thrum of rage in his veins. An intruder had entered his home. No—not just any intruder. A werewolf. And not just any werewolf. Xavier.
The very name was a growl in his throat.
By the time he reached the mansion, the gates stood open, his guards lay in broken heaps by the entrance, and a trail of destruction marred the path leading to the east wing. His fangs lengthened in fury. He had trusted those guards. Had trained them himself. And still—they fell.
A howl of rage tore from his throat as he struck the nearest stone pillar with his bare hand, cracking it clean down the middle. His power surged in waves, filling the courtyard with a stifling tension. The air itself seemed to cower from him.
