Chapter 20. On the Hunt

Alexander

He gritted his teeth as he studied the image of his lycan above the marbled mantlepiece. The painting was done by a royal pack member in 1858. The worth of the art was invaluable like the artist himself.

No matter how much he tried to relax, it was impossible. His wolf was snarling and roaring in his head, wanting blood on his sharp canines. The blood of the enemy.

A fucking necromancer.

He would tear him piece by piece by nightfall tomorrow.

One thing he was so pissed about at the moment, he couldn’t figure out who gave the necromancer access to enter the capital of the supernatural world. He could name one. What could that do?! The lack of evidence was damning. A fucking hindrance.

Their kind had long been enemies. They opted to stay out of the alliance, knowing their deeds and practices would never be approved.

Bringing people back from the dead was a sure sentence to the underworld – with no parole or mercy &