"Answer!" The king's roar shakes dust from the rafters.
Rafe's face presses against the floor, his shoulders trembling. "High Alpha, I didn't—she was never marked—"
"Silence!"
As if he hadn't been demanding an answer a literal moment ago.
The temperature spikes. A faint glow emanates from the king's skin, pulsing in time with his rage. The shadows of his tattoos seem to reach out, grasping at nothing.
My head spins. This is chaos. Insanity.
Alpha's forehead touches the ground, well and properly cowed this time. "High Alpha, please. We didn't know she bore your mark. How could we expect a human to bear the High Alpha's claim?"
The pressure in the room doubles. Voices cry out as every shifter in the Blue Mountain Pack presses themselves flat against the floor. The king's power fills every corner, every crevice, until the very air feels ready to ignite.
