And apparently that was okay with me.
Even my body seemed to already decide violence was an acceptable response to the Alpha’s threat.
Interesting.
“Do. Not. Speak. About my mate,” Menon said softly. “Not ever. And never in that way.”
Gods.
That voice.
Low.
Cold.
Absolutely lethal.
The warmth vanished completely from his expression as he stared at Arthur McFadden.
Not emotional.
Not dramatic.
Worse.
Controlled.
The kind of control that suggested horrifying things waited underneath it.
Even Arthur visibly recoiled half a step.
Still—the Alpha’s pride would not let him back down.
“I know about your bloodline,” Arthur growled. “I know exactly where you come from, Menon Blau.”
The use of Menon’s true name felt strange and intimate in the middle of the crowded festival grounds.
The celestial runes along Menon’s throat brightened sharply.
Arthur continued anyway.
“The Wolves of Fenrir hunted your kind long before Runevald existed.”
A chill slid down my spine.
Fenrir.
I knew that name.
Even Witches knew that name.
Fenrir was the monstrous wolf from Norse mythology destined to devour the gods during Ragnarok.
Only now, standing in a magical realm beneath a blue moon beside my celestial mate—I was beginning to understand those stories weren’t mythology at all.
They were history.
Gunner stiffened beside his father instantly.
