Night settled heavily over Ravenmoon, the crescent moon barely visible behind drifting clouds. The mansion's halls were silent, the usual hum of guards muted by the late hour. In his private suite, Lucien sat alone behind his desk, a half–finished report lying untouched before him.
He'd read the same sentence three times.
And each time, his mind drifted back to the image of Devon collapsing into his arms at the border, small, trembling, bleeding out, the way his body had gone limp as though already accepting death. Lucien's jaw clenched so hard it hurt. He'd seen many wolves die in his life, but none had unsettled him like that.
I must be crazy!
Why am I...
He pushed away from the desk and stood.
So concerned?
The moonlight cast long shadows across the floor as he moved across his suite. He told himself he was only going to check Devon's temperature. Nothing more. A leader must monitor the safety of those under his roof. That was all.
