The double doors of Kael’s private, inner sanctum slid shut with a heavy, pressurized hiss that signaled the absolute seal of the room’s biometric locks. Constructed from reinforced titanium alloy and lined with localized sound-dampening fields, the chamber was entirely soundproof. It was a space designed with acute supernatural paranoia in mind; the acoustic dampening was so severe that even a werewolf with prime sensory capabilities standing right outside the glass would hear nothing but absolute, deadening silence. Inside, the air was cool, carrying the faint, crisp scent of leather, expensive single-malt whiskey, and the heavy aura of the Lycan King himself. Lucien barely waited for the security lights to blink from red to a secure green before he let out a loud, booming laugh that echoed off the minimalist walls. He tossed his suit jacket onto the leather sofa and turned to Kael, his handsome features flushed with genuine, unbridled amusement. "I swear to the moon, Kael,
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