TYLER'S POV
Tyler focused on the blood dripping from his father's claws, forming a pool of redness around his feet. The Mad Alpha stood proud as a god carved from devastation, chest heaving and lips peeled back in a satisfied smile.
He'd killed…murdered those men without a trial. Torn then apart to feed his anxiety and ego. To show the world that he remained the powerful alpha who overthrew his own alpha years ago.
Tyler knew better now. His father was finished. Washed up. The bane of the survival of Dark Creek pack. He'd seen the signs in the drunkenness, the escalating fear of rebellion, the carelessness towards the pack. Now, in the bloody mass of lifeless men at his father's feet, it was as clear as day.
The pack stayed silent. Even the breeze of late evening hardly whispered. The only sound came from the steady drip of blood hitting cracked stone.
