My Vow: To Kill The Alpha

Mine, my wolf said. Who's yours? I asked. The answer was Alpha Damir. I told my wolf to shut the hell up. --- Some vows are made in grief. Some are made in blood. I made mine on my knees in the rain, pushing dirt over the only two people who ever loved me, with smoke still in my lungs and fury so hot it had nowhere left to go. I came back from the UK and something felt wrong before I even reached the gate. The mansion was on fire. My father was already gone. My mother had seconds left and she used every single one of them to give me a name. Alpha Drakan. I carved that name into the inside of my chest and made a vow. Find him. Look him in the eye. Carve his heart out while it's still beating. Except Alpha Drakan was already dead. Two months in the ground. My parents died last night. Dead men don't order killings. Which meant I had the wrong name and the wrong man. My mother hadn't known. She was dying, she couldn't have known. But the name was Drakan and the blood was Drakan and the throne belonged to Drakan. His son. Damir, Alpha of Vordheim. Next of kin to a dead man and sitting on everything that name owned. My mother had pointed me here and here was where the answers lived. He was the one I suspected. The one I was watching. The one I had every intention of killing when the time was right. And then the moon goddess, who clearly has a vicious, twisted, absolutely unhinged sense of humour, went ahead and made him my mate.