Chapter 159

• Dane
• The great hall of the Ironclaw Pack's court was a cathedral of menace, its black stone walls soaring into shadow, carved wolf heads along the rafters glaring down at me with eyes that seemed to pulse with ancient wrath. Large torches burned fiercely, a bruising light that chiseled the jagged shadows across the polished obsidian floor, dimming those ghosts of the past as they watched the present. The air was heavy with the muskiness of fur, a sour note of the acrid scent of aggression, and the thin reek of blood, faintly lingering.
• As I pushed through the oak doors, the slow groan of the heavy oak resounded like a dirge. It slammed into me, the deafening chorus of raucous snarls banging into my chest. The arrival of my boots was deliberate and thunderous, cutting through the chaos. I was all senses strung on a razor blade—the wolf was stirring, rising in me, bristles raised.