CHAPTER 17

Dean crouched in the dimly lit chimney, his breaths shallow and controlled. The muffled sounds of the guards outside grew fainter, replaced by the quiet hum of the hideout's interior. He wiped the sweat from his brow, the scent of smoke and ash mingling with Abraham's blood on his hands. He scanned the room, noting the rustic furniture and the flickering shadows cast by a lone lantern. The hearth, made of large, rough-hewn stones, dominated the room's center. Thick wooden beams crisscrossed the ceiling, giving the space a rugged, timeless feel. The walls were lined with mounted sculpted heads of what he presumed to be past Alphas of the pack.

"A bit too exotic," Dean thought, noting that he had very little time to sit and admire the decor of history within the Red Claw's hideout. He lifted his nose to sniff around, picking up the odd scent he had been trailing at least two floors above. This meant the mysterious man was already inside. Dean knew that once the guards found Abraham, the