Ryder West
I was halfway out the cabin door when something caught my eye on the floor near the fireplace. I stopped, breathing hard, and walked back inside. Kneeling down, I picked up a small silver ring with an engraved “F” on the inside. My blood ran cold.
This wasn’t Victor’s style. Victor was sloppy, arrogant, and left bodies as messages. This ring… this was precise. Deliberate. A calling card.
“No,” I whispered, turning the ring over in my fingers. “It can’t be him.”
Francis Williams.
The name hit me like a punch to the gut. He was supposed to be dead. I had watched the vampires burn his body myself years ago after he tried to start a war between our kinds. Vampires and werewolves weren’t meant to coexist, and Francis had made it his mission to wipe my kind off the map. If he was
