“I do not accuse lightly,” the Gamma said, holding up his hands. “But if we do nothing? If we allow our Alpha to fall and do not act to prevent his murderers from striking again?”
The room grew tense, divided. Some elders muttered agreement, poisoned by the Gamma’s silver tongue. Others shook their heads.
And when, emboldened, the Gamma suggested, “Until Damian recovers, I must take charge—temporarily—for the good of the pack…”
The chamber erupted in voices of protest.
“No!”
“Damian’s blood runs strong!”
“He will recover—he always does!”
But the Gamma persisted, his words weaving through their doubts like smoke. Little by little, he turned a few to his side—those whose pockets he’d already lined with gold and promises.
Reluctantly, after much heated debate, the elders agreed. “Temp
