"What the fuck is taking them so long?" Kallos hissed. The blinding high beams of his car cut through the midnight gloom, flashing rhythmically against the heavy iron of the Moon Howlers' pack gate. He leaned into the center of the steering wheel, the sharp, repetitive blare of the horn shattering the silence of the surrounding forest. His fingers drummed a restless, impatient rhythm against the leather, each tap echoing the irritation tightening his jaw as he waited for someone—anyone, to notify their Alpha that he was already at his doorstep.
"They've had more than enough time," he muttered, voice edged with growing impatience. "It doesn't take this long for someone with a shred of urgency, or sense, to run a message. Not when their Alpha has a king waiting at his gate."
