The Tribrid Alpha’s Nemesis
The other might've just hit thirty, but he was already sweating like he'd run here.
"We've had reports," the older one said stiffly, his hand brushing the weapon holstered on his hip. "That the Tribrid Alpha is... showing signs of instability."
I blinked.
"You're asking if he's going feral," I said flatly.
The younger officer swallowed hard.
Behind me, I heard movement, and before I could stop him, Daxton pushed himself to his feet.
He was slow, sluggish even, but there was a menace in his posture. When he reached the door, he rested one hand on the frame and gave the officers a lazy, lethal smile.
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