Lucien’s POV
The gates of the Bloodfang Pack groaned open as I stepped inside, the wind harsh against my already burning skin. The right side of my face stung a long, jagged scar now carved its way from my temple to my cheek. A reminder. A wound. A declaration.
Demyan.
He would pay for this.
The guards looked at me with a mix of unease and pity, but no one dared speak. I didn’t want their words, I wanted blood.
As I approached the main hall, the scent of ash and iron followed me. Rage had taken root deep in my bones, twisting into something venomous. I shoved the heavy doors open, and there he was my father, standing tall in the middle of the hall like the judgmental god he always pretended to be.
His gaze slid to my scar, and then to my eyes.
“What happened to you?” he asked, voice
