THE sun had barely begun to dip behind the distant hills, casting a warm, golden hue over the courtyard of the Black Fur Palace. Ivy draped from the marble columns, swaying gently in the breeze as servants bustled in quiet efficiency, setting a small table with a silver platter of grapes, aged wine, and fine cheeses.

Alpha Xanthos lounged in his obsidian throne-like chair, shirt unbuttoned just enough to hint at the tribal markings that curled over his chest, signs of power inherited and ...