Thunder Wolfgang POV

At Wolfgang Mansion

The bottle was half-empty. Or maybe it was half-full. Hell if I cared.

I tipped it back, the bitter burn of whiskey coating my throat, drowning out the gnawing ache in my chest. Around me, my chamber was wrecked—chairs splintered, glass shattered, clothes and wolf pelts tossed like the aftermath of a storm. And maybe it was. Maybe I was the storm.

Because I had lost her.

Margaux. My Margaux.

The girl who had been promised to me since we were ...