CAINE
My subordinates remain quiet as they follow me to the alpha lodge, which no longer reeks of blood and death. Instead, it smells pleasantly of citrus and less pleasantly of bleach.
The Blue Mountain shifters all still move with a sense of gloom and inefficiency, though, which leads me to wonder what the hell my Lycans were doing while I was gone.
A lack of proper leadership brings out weak habits in otherwise strong wolves, and it's prevalent through this entire territory. We weren't even approached on our way in, and it wasn't as if we were hiding our presence.
I scan the lodge, taking in the shifters hunched over their tables. They sit in pockets of strained silence, barely acknowledging each other.
It's the weight of uncertainty—a pack without direction.
And where the fuck is their so-called alpha? Grace's ex should have been at the door the moment my scent hit his territory. This blatant disrespect only darkens my already foul mood.
