Luna immediately recognized that voice—low, sharp, and distinct.
'What is he doing here?'
Her wide, tear-filled eyes flicked toward the source, and through her blurred vision she saw him.
Vaelen.
The man who stood beside Tyrnhael. One of the Five ruling Alphas.
He was limping slightly, his shirt soaked and torn in several places. His skin was caked with mud, his hair damp and sticking to his face, and angry scratches marked his arms and torso. Some of them were healing already—his werewolf blood stitching the wounds closed faster than any human could—but he was clearly fresh out of punishment.
Still, nothing compared to Ravhiel's brutal state.
The man holding her—Vaegar—snorted when he saw Vaelen approach.
"Yer punishment's already over?" he said with a mocking smirk, not even attempting respect. "Ha. Tyrnhael's going soft. Others used to be punished for twenty-four straight hours. You barely lasted twelve."
The way he said it—so casual, so scornful—made Luna's skin crawl.
