The doors swung open again, heavier this time, and the guards dragged a figure through the hall—one she knew all too well. Morgan. His clothes were torn, fur matted where his partial shift had been forced against him, and his wrists were bound with the same enchanted ropes that bit into her own skin. His golden eyes, however, still burned with defiance, unbowed despite the chains and bruises. Argos threw back his head and laughed, a sound that made the walls shudder. “Well, well, well… look at this! My own half-brother, finally brought before me. And awake, too! What luck!” Morgan’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing, glaring daggers at Argos. “Come closer,” Argos commanded, stepping down from his throne, his boots echoing ominously across the marble. “Let me see the mighty Alpha who thought he could challenge me. The same one who dares to call my niece ‘family’.” Lilian’s heart pounded. Seeing Morgan here—captured, yet alive—was a cruel mixture of hope and despair. She wanted to
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