Bryson's POV

The halls of the Northwood Citadel were carved from black stone and old blood.

Torches lined the walls-real fire, not electric. Shadows danced across polished marble as the ceremonial drums echoed through the ancestral ground of my people. This place reeked of tradition, of rules I never agreed to, and vows I never wanted to make.

But here I was.

Dressed in formal wear lined with the silver crest of my pack. The Alpha's seal pressed over my heart like a ...