Hades
The manufacturing of the domes was in full swing by the time we left the last plant. We'd been promised all five would be completed within four weeks.
As the car zoomed toward our next location—Freddie directing our chauffeur from the front seat—Lucas Stavros's voice slipped through my thoughts like a ghost. Which, I supposed, he was.
*"They taught us to count the years of injustice like coin. I learned to count them as a debt that must be paid in full. Only then, I told myself, would the world be made even."*
He'd been referring to the werewolves.
My father's plan had been absolute: complete elimination. The blueprint he'd designed for Silverpine's destruction had been inherited by my brother Leon, who'd refined it, expanded it, made it more efficient. Then it had passed to me when I took the throne—this legacy of revenge disguised as justice, of genocide disguised as survival.
