(The MoonTitan Pack)

The air in the Alpha’s office was thick with the smell of stale parchment and the rising heat of an argument.

Xander paced the floor, his boots thudding heavily against the rug.

He looked at his son, Arnold, who sat at the head of the long stone table, one leg crossed over the other, fingers tapping lazily on the desk—a desk Xander had occupied with honor for decades.

"You aren't running a pack, Arnold," Xander growled, his voice vibrating with warning. "You are ...