Alaric's POV
I left the meeting with my people still tasting the metallic bite of irritation on my tongue. They had pressed, questioned, doubted dancing around the unspoken truth that they thought I was growing soft.
That I was losing my edge because of one fragile human.
I hadn't bothered to explain myself. My word was law, and if they couldn't see that, I'd carve it into their bones.
Still, their voices clung to me like the stench of smoke, and all I wanted was to lay eyes on Enzo, to wipe away the sourness of politics with something real.
I drove like a maniac to the cheap motel Enzo's father was living in. I strode down the narrow walkway, boots echoing against the chipped concrete until I reached his room number.
I didn't bother knocking I never needed permission to enter where he was but when I opened the door, the stale air inside was empty. No Enzo. No father. Just a bed that smelled faintly of hunter, cheap alcohol, and dust.
