Draven.
TWO DAYS LATER.
The afternoon light streamed through the large windows of my study, casting long golden bars across the floor and my desk.
The air was still, calm and filled only with the faint rustle of papers as I sifted through reports and tactical notes.
The next few weeks would be decisive. Duskmoor was already cracking under its own fear, and the vampires would use that chaos well. So, I needed every move ready, every strike, and every distraction all planned before Brackham's inevitable call.
Across the room, Meredith's soft footsteps drew my attention. She was at the far wall, her fingers trailing over the spines of my old history collection.
She always paused there every time she was bored, like the past whispered to her in a way it never did to me.
When she finally plucked one of the volumes from the shelf—an old, worn book on early werewolf dynasties, I couldn't help the faint smile that tugged at my mouth.
