"Get up, little cat."
The insult hung in the dusty air, heavier than the humidity.
Kael wiped the blood from his forehead, his golden eyes narrowing. The guilt that had crippled him moments ago began to recede, replaced by the familiar, hot surge of an Alpha's pride. He might have failed his clan, he might have been a monster, but he would be damned if he let this usurper spit on him in his own home.
Slowly, deliberately, Kael rose to his feet.
He was an inch shorter than the Black Tiger King, and in his beastman form, he looked leaner, less monstrous. But Kael straightened his spine, expanding his chest until he looked less like a battered, rejected king and more like a warrior out for blood.
"You sit on a rock and call yourself a King," Kael spat, his voice low and vibrating with menace. "But you smell like a scavenger. You smell like the Wastelands."
Carik's grin widened, stretching the scars on his face.
