King Kelowna had killed twelve rogues before the moon reached its peak.
Blood slicked his claws. His wolf—barely leashed—growled with hunger for more. The stench of burning fur and iron blood clung to the marble of the Shadows estate like rot.
This wasn't a battle. It was an insult.
Rogues had dared to attack during his visit. During his ball. In his presence.
Arrogance or desperation—either way, it demanded retribution.
He stood at the edge of the ruined ballroom, scanning the bodies. His warriors moved with precision, rounding up survivors and clearing the corpses. None would be spared. He'd already given the order. Though the order was unnecessary. Everybody that knew the Lycan King knew about his pure, unapologetic rage and disgust he had for rogues. In all honesty, they didn't stand a chance the moment they stepped through that ballroom door. The moment he had caught their vile scent.
And yet…
Something was off.
His senses, usually razor-sharp, twitched like a misfired arrow. Not fear. Not a threat. Something else. A flicker. A scent. Faint. Half-formed. Something that had caused his wolf to stir under his skin.
His head snapped toward the west corridor, where smoke curled in lazy tendrils above broken sconces.
There—something moved.
Not a rogue. Not a warrior.
Not... normal.
He stepped forward, ignoring the blood caking his boots. The pulse of it was weak, but it called to him. Tugged at something in his chest he hadn't felt in years—not since the day his sister died in his arms, her blood steaming on cold stone.
He wanted to go after it hunted down like the ultimate predator he was. Whatever he was sensing was unsettling, something ancient. It astonished him that no one else could sense it. He knew he couldn't step away at this moment to chase a ghost in a misty shadow.
He growled low in his throat. "Find whoever fled through that passage," he ordered a guard, pointing toward the servant hall. "Alive."
The warrior bowed and vanished.
Kelowna remained still, eyes narrowed.
There was a scent under the smoke. Not quite human. Not quite wolf. Broken, uncertain. Familiar in a way that made his instincts surge with uninvited curiosity.
He hated curiosity. It led to softness. To mistakes. To death.
And yet...
Something had shifted in the world tonight.
He could feel it in his bones.