I watched as Kaelen's expression shifted, considering my question about why Malakor had chosen him to father Rhys. The flickering lights of the bunker cast shadows across his face, heightening the tension between us.
"Blood," he finally said, his voice low. "Power. Lineage. Take your pick."
"Be more specific," I pressed, needing to understand the full scope of Malakor's manipulations.
Kaelen pushed away from the table, pacing the small space like a caged predator. "My bloodline is one of the oldest and most powerful among werewolves. Not royal like yours, but ancient. Strong. Wolves from my line typically manifest exceptional abilities."
"Your Alpha powers," I murmured.
"More than that." He turned to face me. "My strength, my healing abilities, my wolf's size—they're all exceptional even by Alpha standards. Malakor would have known that. He wanted to create the most powerful heir possible."
