Fennigan looked down at Vane, his expression shifting from open hostility to a terrifyingly polite mask that was far more dangerous than any snarl. He took a slow, deep breath, dragging the crisp mountain air into his lungs in a desperate attempt to cool the furnace burning in his chest.Inside him, the wolf was throwing itself against the bars of his ribcage, howling for blood, demanding to tear the throat out of the man who dared to threaten his cubs."If you would like to step into my office and have a discussion," Fennigan said, his voice deceptively even, though it carried across the yard like the tolling of a funeral bell, "then so be it. I have coffee. I have chairs. We can talk about treaties, borders, and bureaucracy until the sun goes down."He took a step closer to the edge of the porch, the wood groaning under the sudden, heavy shift of his weight. His shadow stretched long and dark over the High Council Judge, swallowing the man whole."But hear me clearly, Vane," Fenniga
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