Chapter 142

• Kiara
• Tension filled the Alpha court of the Silvermoon Pack, the kind that sticks to one’s skin like damp moss. I was seated at the long, old table, tapping the polished surface with my fingers, inhaling the barely discernible scent of cedar and old leather.
• The chamber was smaller than Dane’s, less opulent perhaps, but no less imposing with that ill weight of purpose—stone walls marred by claw marks, an antler chandelier with candles spitting wax onto the floor above. My father, Edward, slumped at the head of the table, his gray-streaked beard and keen eyes darting between the rest of us.