The moon hung high above the Draven mansion, spilling pale silver light across the gardens. The household had fallen quiet after dinner; Marina had retired to her study, Lea to her chambers, leaving Kael pacing the veranda with a storm simmering under his skin.
He replayed Lea's words in his mind, over and over. "He's the only man worthy of the title of my father." Those words had pierced him, filling him with warmth—but also binding him with responsibility heavier than chains.
And then there was Hugo. The wolf who held his daughter in his arms, who looked at her as though she were the only star in his sky. Kael had seen it—seen the sincerity mixed with desperation. It unsettled him. But tonight, he couldn't let it pass.
He found Hugo alone in the library, seated in one of the leather chairs, a glass of whiskey in his hand. The fire crackled softly in the hearth, shadows dancing on the young man's face.
