DAMON’S POV

The stench of blood and failure was all wafted in the air like a bitter perfume as I stepped into Silas' shrine. Right next to the altar, he laid like a discarded puppet, crumpled on the ground, barely conscious, face bloodied and bruised. For a man who had promised me so much, he looked more like a battered animal than the cunning strategist I had reluctantly trusted.

“What a fool you are,” I growled, my voice cold and sharp enough to cut through any metal. My wolf, Demon, ...