Ezra's wolf was a blackish-gray beast, his coat dark as storm clouds at first glance, but streaked with silver whenever the light struck it. He cut through the trees like a shadow given form and he led the charge.
A snarl ripped from Cane's throat, hatred igniting in his eyes the moment he saw the rival sub-Alpha. He had always despised Ezra — the hypocrisy, the self-righteous calm, that irritating air of honor Ezra wore like armor. Even before Ezra became Asher's right hand, Cane had wanted him dead.
He should have known something was wrong the moment Micah showed up. What business did the former king's demon-spawn son have on West Pack soil, much less inside his stronghold? But Cane had been too focused on orchestrating his own attack to realize his enemies had outmaneuvered him first.
Fine. That didn't matter now.
This was an opportunity and he would not let it slip by. He would tear Ezra apart and erase the bastard once and for all.
