“Are you certain?” Damon asked again, each word deliberate. “He cut his palm and gave blood to rogues?”
“Yes, my king.”
Conall stepped forward slightly. “My king…”
Damon raised a hand to silence him, but his eyes never left John.
“Did you feel anything?” Damon asked.
John frowned slightly. “My king?”
“Any shift in scent. In authority. In bond.”
John’s expression changed subtly.
“Yes. It was faint… because I was weak. But I felt something bind. Like an invisible thread tightening around those rogues.”
Dante cursed under his breath.
Damon finally turned away, his mind racing.
“My king?” Conall asked carefully.
Damon’s voice came low and controlled.
“There is only one wolf who can temporarily accept outsiders into a pack without formal ceremony.”
Conall’s eyes widened slightly.
