The clock strikes nine, though the morning light still lingers soft and gold through the high windows of the Bellamy study. Dust motes swim lazily in the air, gilded in sunlight, but the energy in the room couldn't be further from calm. Four wolves, four sons of Alpha Tobias, are yet, still gathered in a room too small for their pride, their tension, and the centuries of blood that run thick in their veins.
Darien stands at the center, his brothers beside him like a general surrounded by volatile soldiers. He's the still point in a storm of shifting power. His shoulders are square, his jaws are set, and his eyes are steady. The fire behind them has dulled to embers, leaving the air warm but still charged.
