Gracie remained locked away in his chamber, thick drapes blocking every trace of silver light that dared creep through the windows. The moon disgusted him. Its cold radiance reminded him of her, the Moon Goddess who ruled from her celestial throne while he rotted in exile. She drifted across the heavens in her shimmering chariot, oblivious to his suffering below.
The fireplace crackled weakly, its dying flames casting dancing shadows across the stone walls. He had neglected to tend the fire, his mind consumed by thoughts of the boy named Darius. The werewolf scent still lingered in his memory, sharp and unmistakable.
How had a wolf gotten so close to his territory without detection? His cult followers were useless, their human senses blind to what mattered most. They could torture and kill, but they couldn't sense the supernatural threats that walked among them.
