Damien steps forward, each movement deliberate, radiating dominance. His eyes burn with fury, the weight of his authority pressing down on the room like a storm rolling in. The tension thickens, crackling in the air as the pack watches, waiting to see who will break first.
“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” Damien growls, his voice low but lethal. “Your senses have dulled with age.”
A ripple of unease spreads through the gathered wolves. Hushed whispers weave between them, some leaning toward Elder Ralph, others shifting their stance toward Damien. Sides are quietly being chosen.
Raven, standing firm beside Damien, lifts her chin. “My blood is not cursed,” she says, her voice clear and unwavering.
Elder Ralph’s glare doesn’t falter. His fingers twitch at his sides, his body
