*Demarion's point of view* I lay perfectly still on the cold dungeon floor, blood pooling beneath me, soaking into the cracks of the stone like a dark reminder of everything that had gone wrong. Every breath I drew felt thick, metallic, heavy in my lungs. My ribs protested with each inhale, and the wolfsbane embedded in the cuffs around my wrists burned like acid beneath my skin.But I did not heal.Not fully.I forced my wolf to remain dormant, to conserve his strength. He stirred beneath the surface, restless, furious, aching to mend the torn flesh and fractured bone. Yet I held him back. Healing recklessly would drain him. And when the real battle came, which I knew would come, I would need him at full power.Pain was temporary.War was not.I did not know who the masked coward was. One thing was certain. The man behind the mask was angry.I sifted through the names of every Alpha I had overthrown, every rogue leader I had crushed, every enemy whose pride I had shattered. None fit
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