Damon’s POV

The smell of smoke still clung to the air three days after the attack that nearly killed me. I stood at the edge of the clearing where we had lost six wolves and three humans, all caught in the crossfire of the rebel shooter's ambush. Their graves lay before me, marked with stones and prayers, a reminder of the cost of peace.

Rowan stood to my right, his scarred face grim. His massive shoulders were tense, and his dark eyes surveyed the gathered crowd with the watchfulness of a ...