POV: Lucien Blackveil
Steam curled through the luxurious marble-tiled bathroom of the Silver Fang Pack's Alpha estate. Polished black stone reflected muted sunlight through frosted windows. The water had long gone cold, but Lucien Blackveil stood still beneath the spray, head bowed, muscles tense, breath slow.
Another dream.Another memory.Blood. Fire. Screams.His father's last howl ripped through his mind like a ghost that refused to leave.
He finally shut off the water and stepped out, grabbing a black towel from the warmer and wrapping it around his hips. Water dripped from his jet-black hair, sliding down the thick ridges of muscle that lined his body. He was tall—6'4" of lethal power—built like a soldier, carved like a god, scarred like a survivor.
But it was the mark on his cheek—a jagged scar from beneath his eye to his jaw—that always caught his eye in the mirror.
He didn't flinch when he saw it.He didn't curse it.He simply… remembered.
The boy who cried for his father had died that day.What remained was the Alpha—the weapon—the wolf called Lucien Blackveil.
Behind his golden eyes, Roman, his wolf, stirred.Restless. Watchful. Always waiting.
"One day, we'll have our vengeance," Roman growled softly in his head.
Lucien grabbed the black dress shirt folded beside the sink and slid it on with practiced ease. His hands paused on the buttons.
A knock shattered the silence.
"Alpha," came a low, respectful voice—David, his Beta.
Lucien didn't look up. "Enter."
David stepped in, holding a sealed envelope and his tablet. His dark eyes were serious. The man was composed, loyal—but the way his jaw twitched told Lucien something was off.
"There's been a message," David said, stopping just short of the threshold. "From the Silverstone Pack."
Lucien arched a brow. "Go on."
David swallowed. "Rogue attack. Severe. Multiple disappearances. Alpha Asher Thorne is requesting to meet with you personally. He'll be arriving this afternoon."
Lucien's jaw tensed. His muscles flexed under the fabric of his shirt.Rogues.
The very word sent heat blooming through his chest. A low growl stirred inside him.
Roman snarled in his head. "More cowards crawling out from their shadows."
He fastened the last button. "What time?"
"By 1:00 PM," David answered. "They'll be at the front gate."
Lucien nodded once. "Escort them in. I'll be in the office."
By the time the silver wolf-etched clock struck 1:00 PM, Lucien sat behind his heavy oak desk in his grand office. Towering windows framed snow-peaked cliffs behind him, and the dark stone floors echoed every footstep. The air hummed with dominance—his presence, cold and sharp.
He wore a custom three-piece black suit, no tie—never one to be bound. The silver crest of the Silver Fang Pack gleamed at his lapel. His hands were steepled before him, golden eyes sharp.
He didn't pace.He didn't fidget.He waited.
A knock.
"They're here, Alpha," David's voice called.
"Send them in."
The double doors opened with a creak.
In stepped Asher Thorne, Alpha of the Silverstone Pack—broad, cocky, eyes guarded. Behind him stood Jack Moonstone, his Beta, and Alex Ashwood, his Gamma. They looked like they walked out of a warrior's parade—leather jackets, stiff backs, forced calm.
Lucien did not rise. He simply leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled beneath his chin.
"Welcome to Silver Fang," he said, his voice low, velvet and iron. "But let's skip the formalities, shall we?"
His golden eyes gleamed.
"You came for war, didn't you?""Tell me—what did you lose?"And silently, Lucien thought:
Who did they take this time?