"Welcome, nephew. And my dear, precious niece. So good of you to finally bring my heir home to me."
Malakor's words hung in the air, each syllable dripping with vile satisfaction. My blood turned to ice at the thought of him believing he had any claim to my son.
"Rhys will never be yours," I snarled, stepping forward despite Kaelen's protective arm. "He is our son. Our heir. And you will never touch him."
My uncle's smile didn't falter. "Such spirit. Your mother had that same defiance. Before the end."
Kaelen's body tensed beside me, coiled and ready to strike. "Enough talk," he growled, his voice dropping to that deadly Alpha tone that made even the strongest wolves cower. "You've lost your forces. Your cult is finished. This ends now."
The High Priest shifted beside Malakor's throne, his hooded face turning toward us. "The Master cannot be defeated by mere force," he intoned, voice rasping like dry leaves. "The Dark God's will—"
