EIGHT

HUNTER’s POV

I stand atop the balcony of my late father’s packhouse overlooking our land. There is a gentle breeze that plays with my hair as I look at the world that lays before me. I lift a hand with an outstretched arm and curl my fingers in, seemingly swallowing the land whole. It is only a matter of time before I claim back what rightfully belongs to the Storm Riders pack. My pack. 

My father, the late Alpha was one of the most powerful leaders of his time. He was ruthless and his name evoked fear throughout the land. If he asked you to down a bucket of shit, you would do it with a smile, otherwise, not only would you lose your head, your parents and children would lose theirs too and everyone else who is even remotely linked to your name would end up facing the guillotine. But my father never crossed a man, or in our case, a wolf that didn’t deserve it.

He played by the rules of the werewolf world. And because