Varg's bare, massive shoulders tensed violently, as if struck by a freezing gale the moment that old ghost materialized on his left. As the wave of raw madness in his crimson eyes flared, blending with the fresh Alpha blood still dripping from his claws onto the marble, his gaze slid heavily toward Violet's audacious form.
I watched as his left hand gripped the silver bone-handled knife on the table so tightly that his knuckles turned a ghostly white, the metal groaning under a pressure that looked ready to shatter it into lethal shards.
The freezing air of the room stretched taut, like a nuclear bomb ticked away to its absolute final second. Without blinking, I locked my eyes onto Varg's next move. Either he would hurl that woman from that seat with a single swipe of his feral claws, or the cursed shackles of a dead past would bury the Black Sun into an eternal, suffocating darkness.
