Lucian's POV
I hated the name Nikandros.
So much.
Every time my father said it, it felt like a chain tightening around my throat.
He didn't say it out of affection. He never did.
It was a command, a reminder of the blood that ran through me, and the expectations I was supposed to uphold.
When I felt his presence in the forest, I knew two things for certain: Maeve was in trouble… and I was going to be in even more trouble before dawn.
Rowan and I had been patroling the forest all day, searching in both our human and Lycan forms, when we had caught the whiff of Elias's blood.
The rogue we had captured on Tuesday had warned us.
"They're here," it had hissed through broken teeth and blood. "More of us. Hiding. Waiting for you, little alphas."
We had locked it away, bound it in moonsteel chains, the only metal strong enough to burn and hold a Lycan's strength.
The moment we'd heard that threat, we'd gone straight to Headmaster Halbrook. The festival had to stop, it had to.
