Lord Harrow seemed to be staring at him with horror, but Draven did not care, his time was wasted and it could not be reversed.
"You have three breaths to become useful," he said. "Use the first to think. The second to speak. The third…" he glanced at Jalen's boot. "…will not be yours if you waste the second."
Harrow inhaled. A ragged, first breath. He had made a mistake. A terrifying one at that. He was a lord of a fallen household. By chance, yesterday at the port where he worked he had overheard one of the merchants who used his trade route talk about the Lycan King's arrival in the pack and the man went on to say how the king was in search of girls with silver hair, who were in the werewolves pack.
At first he had dismissed the information but yesterday ar the ball, it sealed the deal for him when the king announced the pack's outcast as his bride.
