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The Alpha's Gambit

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By day, Gabriel Thorne is the ruthless CEO of a tech empire. By night, he leads a werewolf pack amidst a city's thriving and deadly shapeshifter mafia. A brutal attack shatters the fragile peace, leaving Gabriel wounded and thirsting for vengeance. But as he navigates a web of deceit within his own pack, he uncovers a plot that could expose shapeshifters and unleash a supernatural apocalypse. The Alpha's Gambit is a game of survival, where the stakes are higher than power, they're the future of an entire race.

Chapter 1: High-Rise Hostility

The penthouse shimmered like a crystal shard against the obsidian night sky. Inside, Gabriel Thorne, the epitome of urbane control, orchestrated the opulent chaos of his Thorne Enterprises gala. Laughter mingled with the clinking of champagne flutes, a symphony conducted by Gabriel's effortless smile. Yet, beneath the tuxedo, a primal awareness flickered in his amber eyes. He was the Alpha, ever vigilant, even amidst the glittering facade.

Suddenly, a discordant note pierced the revelry. A guttural growl, raw and primal, erupted from the shadows. A hulking figure, fangs bared and eyes glowing crimson, lunged at a startled socialite. Panic erupted. Screams echoed like fractured glass as more figures emerged, shedding their human disguises to reveal monstrous wolves. Blood Moon Syndicate.

Gabriel surged forward, a snarl twisting his features. The Boardroom Brawl had commenced. Tables became makeshift barricades, crystal shattering under snapping claws. A cacophony of roars and shrieks filled the air. Gabriel, a whirlwind of fur and fury, disarmed a werewolf with a brutal swipe, sending it crashing through a panoramic window. The city stretched out below, a million twinkling eyes oblivious to the carnage above.

Anya Petrova, his trusted lieutenant, materialized at his side, a blur of black fur and flashing fangs. Together, they were a lethal ballet of claws and teeth. Yet, the attackers were relentless. Gabriel felt a searing pain erupt in his shoulder. A rogue wolf, emboldened by the chaos, had sunk its teeth into him. A primal roar ripped from his throat, a sound that resonated with raw power and pain.

He lunged for his attacker, but the world swam before his eyes. The metallic tang of blood filled his mouth. Anya shoved him back, a snarl ripping from her throat that chilled even the most battle-hardened wolves. With a ferocious intensity, she drove the attackers back, buying Gabriel precious moments.

He stumbled, vision blurring. The luxury of the penthouse mocked him, a gilded cage shattered by the storm of violence. Rage warred with the encroaching darkness at the edges of his vision. He wouldn't succumb. Not here, not now. He sank a hand into his pocket, feeling the smooth coolness of a silver vial - an emergency reserve for dire situations. With a grimace, he smashed it against the wall.

A wave of icy fire surged through him, temporarily pushing back the debilitating effects of the werewolf venom. He locked eyes with Anya, a silent message passing between them. This wasn't over. He would have his vengeance. The Alpha's Gambit had just begun.

The aftermath was a tableau of shattered elegance. Guests, trembling and wide-eyed, huddled together amidst the debris. Armani suits were stained crimson, and expensive jewelry lay scattered like discarded toys. The air hung heavy with the stench of blood and fear. Gabriel surveyed the scene, a dark calmness settling over him. The silver had dulled the throbbing pain, but the bite was a vicious reminder – a declaration of war scrawled across his city and his pride.

Anya stood beside him, her chest heaving. Her fierce emerald eyes, usually filled with unwavering loyalty, held a flicker of concern that sent a tremor through him. This wasn't just any attack; it was a calculated strike designed to wound him not just physically, but as a leader. They'd chosen the heart of his human world, a place of power and control, to expose his vulnerability.

"Alpha," Anya said, her voice a low growl, laced with a protectiveness that both warmed and worried him. "You're injured. We need to get you out of here."

Gabriel straightened, steel returning to his gaze. The pain was a dull throb now, a muted echo of the initial agony. "Minor setback," he rasped, his voice rough. "We have bigger problems." He scanned the room, his gaze lingering on the terrified faces. Tonight's guests wouldn't forget the taste of primal fear that had invaded their sanitized world. It was a message not just for him, but for the entire city – a reminder of the hidden world that lurked beneath the surface.

"Tonight," he growled, the words laced with a deadly calm that sent shivers down the spine of even the most seasoned pack member, "we hunt."

His voice resonated with a chilling finality. The hunt for the attackers was more than just vengeance; it was a necessary act of dominance. The Blood Moon Syndicate had made their move on his territory, and Gabriel Thorne, Alpha of the Lunar Eclipse pack, wouldn't tolerate such a blatant challenge. The gleaming cityscape outside his penthouse might have been a world of glass and steel, but tonight, the primal instincts of the hunt would rule.

The penthouse suite transformed with brutal efficiency. Gone were the remnants of the shattered gala, replaced by a makeshift war room. Canapes and champagne flutes were replaced by maps of the city and dossiers on Blood Moon lieutenants. Anya barked orders, dispatching trusted pack members to secure the perimeter and gather intel. The air crackled with a raw, electric energy, a storm brewing beneath the veneer of Armani suits and designer dresses.

Gabriel, stripped of his tuxedo, sat hunched over a marble coffee table, the silver vial dangling from his fingertips. A raw, primal anger simmered within him, the pain in his shoulder a constant dull throb. He glanced at Anya, who knelt beside him, her brow furrowed in concern as she examined the bite wound. Her touch was a fleeting comfort in the midst of the chaos.

"It's a deep one," she said, her voice a low murmur. "The venom's coursing through you faster than usual."

"Werewolves are supposed to heal quickly," Gabriel muttered, his voice laced with frustration. The implication hung heavy in the air. This wasn't just any Blood Moon wolf; the bite carried a potency that suggested a higher power at play, perhaps a particularly potent strain of wolfsbane laced into the attacker's claws.

Anya's emerald eyes flashed with a fierce protectiveness. "They wanted to cripple you, Alpha," she growled. "This wasn't a random attack. They knew exactly what they were doing."

Gabriel slammed his fist on the table, the force of it cracking the marble. "I know," he snarled. The humiliation of the attack stung worse than the wound itself. They'd chosen his most public space, a symbol of his power and control, to expose his vulnerability in front of the human elite. It was a calculated move, a message to the entire city's supernatural underbelly – a challenge to his dominance.

A young pack member, his face etched with worry, burst into the room. "Alpha," he panted, bowing his head in deference. "The attackers have vanished. No trace."

Frustration tightened Gabriel's jaw. They'd planned this meticulously, leaving no trail. However, the choice of location spoke volumes. The Blood Moon wouldn't have dared such a brazen attack without a reason. They were making a statement, flexing their own muscle and gauging the Lunar Eclipse pack's response.

"They'll be back," Gabriel said, his voice cold and hard. "They want a fight. We'll give them one, on our terms." He looked at Anya, a glint of steel in his amber eyes. "Gather the council. We have a war council to convene."

The air in the council chamber, usually a place of somber discussion, buzzed with a tense energy. The elders, their faces etched with the memories of past battles and the scars of countless hunts, sat around the circular table. Anya stood beside Gabriel, her imposing figure a silent testament to his leadership.

He recounted the events of the gala, his voice devoid of emotion but laced with a simmering anger. The silence that followed was heavy, thick with unspoken questions and simmering anxieties.

"This is a declaration of war," finally said Viktor Petrov, Anya's father and a seasoned warrior. His gruff voice resonated in the chamber, carrying the weight of his experience. "The Blood Moon wouldn't have dared such an attack without a reason. They're testing our strength, sniffing out weakness."

"They're not just testing us," muttered another elder, a wizened woman with eyes that seemed to pierce through facades. "They're trying to destabilize us. They want to see if the Alpha is still in control after that little… incident."

Gabriel's gaze swept across the faces around the table. Doubt and worry flickered in some eyes, a silent challenge to his authority. The attack had exposed a vulnerability, and the pack, ever pragmatic, sensed weakness. He couldn't afford that. Not now.

"The Blood Moon is a viper in our midst," he said, his voice ringing with a steely resolve that quelled the murmurs. "We will not cower. We will retaliate."

A murmur of agreement rippled through the chamber. This wasn't just about vengeance; it was about reclaiming dominance, about ensuring the safety of their territory and the secrecy of their existence. The delicate balance between the human world and the supernatural one hung in the air.

"They chose the battlefield," Gabriel continued, his voice low but powerful. "But this fight ends on our terms. We hunt them down, cripple their leadership, and send a message that will echo through the city's underbelly. A message that will make every vampire and ghoul in this city remember who holds the true power here."

Anya stepped forward, her voice a low growl that sent a shiver down the spines of the assembled council members.

"We have a network of informants within the human underworld," Anya said, her voice a low growl that sent a tremor through the room. Her emerald eyes, usually filled with unwavering loyalty, now glinted with a predatory hunger. "We'll start there. Someone, somewhere, saw something, heard a whisper. We squeeze that information out, and then we hit them hard and fast. A surgical strike, a message carved in blood – the Lunar Eclipse pack doesn't tolerate challenges."

A grim determination settled over the room. This wasn't just a hunt; it was a surgical strike designed to send a shockwave through the Blood Moon Syndicate. Gabriel needed to display strength, not just for his pack, but for the entire supernatural community. Weakness could shatter the fragile peace that existed between the different factions in the city's underbelly. Vampires, ghouls, and even the reclusive fae folk living in hidden pockets of the city parks – all watched with bated breath, their own agendas intertwined with the outcome of this brewing conflict.

The rest of the night was a blur of activity. Plans were laid on a massive map of the city sprawled across the council table, strategies debated with growls and snarls that echoed in the cavernous chamber. Anya dispatched trusted pack members to scour their network of informants in the human underworld, while others honed their combat skills far below in the pack's hidden training room, the thuds and growls muffled by thick steel doors. Gabriel, despite the throbbing pain radiating from his shoulder, was a whirlwind of action. He barked orders, studied maps, and interrogated any pack member who might have the slightest shred of information about the attackers. His amber eyes, usually holding a calculated control, now burned with a cold fury.

As dawn approached, painting the city skyline in hues of rose and gold, Gabriel finally allowed himself a moment of respite. He retreated to the penthouse balcony, the cool morning air a welcome contrast to the heated discussions and the coppery tang of adrenaline that lingered in the council chamber. The city below was stirring, oblivious to the storm brewing beneath the surface. Streetlights flickered and died, surrendering to the approaching sunrise. The rhythmic hum of traffic and the distant wail of a police siren were the only sounds that pierced the pre-dawn quiet.

Anya joined him, a silent sentinel by his side. The city lights began to wink out, surrendering to the approaching sunrise. The world was on the cusp of a new day, a day that for them would be steeped in the shadows of violence and the hunt for vengeance.

"They'll underestimate us," Anya said, her voice laced with a quiet confidence that belied the raw power coiled beneath the surface. "They'll think we're weakened by the attack, a wounded alpha licking his wounds."

Gabriel smirked, a cold glint in his amber eyes that mirrored the rising sun. "Let them think that," he said, his voice a low growl. "Underestimating your enemy is a mistake they won't live to regret. The Blood Moon has disrupted the balance, and now they'll face the consequences. We'll hit them where it hurts the most, a swift and brutal counter-attack that will leave them reeling. This is the Alpha's Gambit, Anya, and the stakes are the future of this city's supernatural order."

The promise of violence hung heavy in the air, a counterpoint to the chirping of birds heralding the new day. This was just the beginning. The Alpha's Gambit had been set in motion, and the city's hidden world was about to witness a brutal game of power and revenge, a game where the wrong move could unleash chaos upon both the human and supernatural worlds.

The first tendrils of sunlight snaked through the skyscrapers, casting long shadows across the city's underbelly. In a dingy bar on the wrong side of town, reeking of stale beer and desperation, a lone figure huddled in a corner booth. This was Razor, a gremlin with a nose for trouble and a network of informants that stretched across the city's criminal underworld. He wasn't picky about his clientele, as long as the coin jingled. Tonight, the coin belonged to a hulking werewolf with crimson eyes, a Blood Moon enforcer named Scar.

"You heard right," Razor rasped, his voice a gravelly whisper that sent shivers down the spines of even the most hardened bar patrons. "Thorne's pack is in an uproar. They're scrambling like ants with a stomped anthill. Heard there was a fight at their fancy gala last night. Big fight. Alpha Thorne himself got bit by one of their own. Nasty wound, they say. Left him weakened, seething."

Scar grunted, his features obscured by the shadows of his hood. "Good. Let them squirm. We disrupted their little gathering, showed them we ain't afraid to bite back."

"Maybe," Razor countered, his beady eyes glinting with a hint of mischief. "But underestimating the Thorne pack ain't wise, especially when the Alpha's got a vengeance itch that's turning him feral. They're holding emergency meetings, their council's in a tizzy. Heard whispers of huntin' parties, retaliation. They want blood, Scar, and they ain't gonna stop until they get it."

Scar scoffed. "He's just a fancy suit with a bad temper. We got the numbers, the muscle. They ain't got nothin' on us."

Razor's lips curled into a sly smile. He knew better. The Lunar Eclipse pack might be smaller, but they were a well-oiled machine, with Gabriel Thorne at the helm, a predator as cunning as he was ruthless. Still, Razor kept his thoughts to himself. More coin meant more information, and information was his stock in trade.

"Heard whispers," he continued, leaning closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial hiss. "What kind of cargo?" he growled, his voice laced with predatory interest. Were they bringing in muscle? Weapons? Or something more… alchemical? The possibilities sent a shiver down Scar's spine.

Razor shrugged, a sly grin spreading across his face. "Don't know the specifics. But if it's important enough to the Thorne pack, it'll be important enough to you."

Scar slammed a hefty sack of coins on the table, the sound echoing like a gunshot in the dingy bar. "You get me details," he snarled. "Location, time, the whole shebang. This could be a game changer."

Razor scooped up the coins, his greed momentarily eclipsing any caution. "Consider it done," he rasped. "You won't regret it."

Outside, the sun had fully risen, bathing the city in a golden glow. But in the shadows of the bar, a different kind of game was afoot. A game of information, deceit, and a brewing storm that threatened to engulf the city in a supernatural war.

Meanwhile, within the sleek confines of Gabriel Thorne's penthouse, the war room buzzed with renewed activity. Anya, her face etched with grim determination, slammed a file on the table. "Scar," she growled, pointing at a picture of the hulking werewolf. "He was seen leaving Razor's bar this morning."

Gabriel's eyes narrowed to slits. Razor, the city's resident gremlin, was a notorious gossip and information broker. If Scar was meeting with him, the Blood Moon Syndicate was planning something big. Something that reeked of desperation and a potential power shift.

"A shipment," he murmured, piecing together the puzzle. "They're planning something. Something big enough to justify a meeting with Razor."

Anya nodded, her emerald eyes gleaming with a feral intensity. "The warehouses by the docks. Tonight."

A feral glint ignited in Gabriel's amber eyes. The throbbing pain in his shoulder was a dull echo compared to the fire of vengeance burning within him. He wouldn't let the Blood Moon Syndicate gain an upper hand. This wasn't just about a bruised ego anymore; it was about protecting his pack, his territory, and the fragile peace that existed between the different factions that lurked beneath the city's glittering facade.

"Then tonight," he said, his voice a steely growl that resonated with a deadly command, "we intercept them. We show the Blood Moon Syndicate that the Alpha's Gambit is a game they're destined to lose."

The council chamber erupted in a flurry of activity. Plans were revised, attack strategies formulated with a practiced efficiency born from years of experience. The hunt was no longer just about vengeance; it was about protecting their territory, their resources, and the fragile peace that existed between the city's supernatural factions. As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the city in an orange glow that painted the glass and steel skyscrapers in fiery hues, the Lunar Eclipse pack prepared to unleash its fury. The Alpha's Gambit had entered its endgame, and the fate of the city.

The warehouse district by the docks pulsed with a gritty life of its own. The air reeked of salt and fish, the rhythmic groan of cranes punctuating the symphony of industrial activity. Here, amidst the towering stacks of containers and the desolate alleyways, the city shed its facade of glamour and exposed its raw, utilitarian bones.

Hidden in the shadows of a particularly dilapidated warehouse, Scar and his pack mates waited, jittery anticipation simmering beneath their gruff exteriors. Scar, perpetually grumpy, paced like a caged wolf, his crimson eyes occasionally flickering towards the grimy alley entrance.

"Where the hell is it?" he snarled, snapping at a younger werewolf who flinched under his scrutiny. "Razor said two hours tops!"

A rustle in the shadows startled them. A figure emerged – Razor, his gremlin face contorted in a mixture of fear and excitement.

"Got delayed," he squeaked, holding up his hand in a placating gesture. "Thorne's pack got wind of something, upped their patrols. Had to take a detour."

Scar growled, a low rumble that vibrated in his chest. "Better not be some kind of joke, Razor. You mess with the Blood Moon, you get bitten."

Ignoring the veiled threat, Razor scurried closer, his beady eyes darting around. "Heard whispers," he whispered, his voice barely a rasp. "This shipment ain't ordinary weapons or muscle. No siree. This… this changes the game."

Scar leaned in, his curiosity momentarily eclipsing his temper. "Changes how?"

Razor's voice dropped to a conspiratorial hiss. "Legend speaks of an artifact," he breathed. "An artifact of immense power. An artifact that can… tip the balance between man and beast."

The implication hung heavy in the air. An artifact that could alter the power dynamic between the human and supernatural worlds? This was bigger than Scar had ever imagined. A tremor of excitement, tinged with fear, ran through the pack.

"Where is it?" Scar demanded, the urgency in his voice betraying his usual gruff demeanor.

But before Razor could answer, a guttural growl echoed from the alleyway entrance. A hulking figure, fur bristling and fangs bared, emerged from the shadows. Gabriel Thorne, Alpha of the Lunar Eclipse pack, had arrived.

Anya flanked him, her emerald eyes narrowed to slits. Behind them, a pack of elite Lunar Eclipse warriors materialized, silent and deadly spectres in the fading light. They had anticipated the Blood Moon's move, their intelligence network proving more efficient than Razor's whispers.

"This ends here, Scar," Gabriel growled, his voice a low rumble that vibrated in the warehouse's cavernous interior. "No shipment, no power plays. Just retribution for your attack on my pack."

Scar bristled, his voice a snarling challenge. "You think you can take us all, Alpha? We're outnumbered!"

Gabriel smirked, a cold glint in his amber eyes. "Numbers don't win battles, Scar. Strategy does. And tonight, your strategy is flawed. You're cornered rats."

Anya let out a low growl, the sound a primal war cry. The Lunar Eclipse pack surged forward, a wave of black fur and flashing fangs. Chaos erupted. The warehouse echoed with the sounds of snarls, growls, and the sickening thud of flesh meeting flesh. The stench of blood hung heavy in the air, a grim counterpoint to the desperate howls of the outmatched Blood Moon pack.

Razor, ever the opportunist, realized the tide had turned. With a whimper and a high-pitched squeal, he darted into the shadows, vanishing into the labyrinthine alleyways of the dock district. He'd played both sides, and tonight, self-preservation was paramount.

Gabriel, a whirlwind of fur and fury, tore through the Blood Moon pack. His shoulder throbbed with renewed pain, but adrenaline and rage fueled his movements. He finally cornered Scar, their alpha stares locked in an unspoken challenge. The scent of fear mingled with Scar's musky odor, a sweet victory in Gabriel's nostrils.

The fight was brutal, a clash of titans. Gabriel, despite the lingering effects of the bite, fought with an almost feral intensity. He landed a vicious blow, sending Scar crashing into a pile of crates. His victory cry echoed through the warehouse, a chilling testament to the Lunar Eclipse pack's dominance.

As the fight subsided, the remaining Blood Moon members whimpered in submission, their bravado shattered. With a snarl, Gabriel ordered them bound with silver chains, a temporary measure to contain their lupine strength. The warehouse floor became a tableau of whimpering werewolves and scattered weapons, their dreams of disrupting the city's supernatural order lying in tatters at the feet of the Alpha

In the aftermath of the brutal battle, Gabriel surveyed the scene with a grim satisfaction. The Blood Moon pack lay subdued, their arrogance replaced by whimpers and defeated glances. Anya stood beside him, her emerald eyes scanning the warehouse, a predator assessing its prey. The air hung heavy with the stench of blood and the unsettling quiet that followed violence.

"No sign of the artifact," she reported, her voice a low growl that vibrated with a primal frustration. "Either Razor was feeding us lies, or they hid it somewhere else."

Gabriel cursed under his breath. The promise of an artifact of immense power was a game-changer. Whoever possessed it could potentially tip the balance between the human and supernatural worlds, unleashing chaos upon the city. The carefully constructed order they'd maintained for so long could crumble in the face of such an artifact's influence.

"We interrogate these mutts," Gabriel growled, gesturing towards the bound werewolves. Their moans and whimpers were a pathetic counterpoint to the symphony of destruction that had just unfolded. "Maybe someone knows something. And Razor…" he trailed off, a glint of steel flickering in his amber eyes. "He won't be slipping out of our grasp again."

Suddenly, a commotion erupted near the front entrance. A young Lunar Eclipse pack member burst into the warehouse, his face pale with fear. "Alpha," he stammered, "police sirens. They're approaching fast."

The news slammed into Gabriel like a physical blow. The last thing they needed was human authorities stumbling onto a scene reeking of violence and supernatural creatures. Panic flickered in the eyes of the pack members, a tremor that threatened to unravel their carefully maintained control.

Anya, ever the strategist, stepped forward. Her voice, though laced with urgency, remained a steady counterpoint to the rising chaos. "We need to disappear. Now," she said with a steely glint in her eyes. "We can't risk being caught with these… prisoners."

Gabriel nodded, his mind racing with possibilities. They needed to vanish like smoke on the wind, leaving no trace of the brutal fight or their supernatural identities. "Get the pack back to the den," he ordered. "I'll handle this."

Anya hesitated, concern etching lines on her face. "Alpha, you're injured. You shouldn't…"

"I'll be fine," he snapped, his voice laced with a desperate edge. He couldn't afford to show weakness now. "Just get everyone safe. This is our mess, we'll clean it up."

Anya and the pack melted into the shadows, their movements practiced and efficient. Gabriel turned to the bound werewolves, a dangerous glint in his eyes. Time was of the essence, and these prisoners were his only leverage. "We have unfinished business," he rasped, his voice a low growl that promised pain.

He grabbed Scar by the scruff of his neck, hauling him towards a back exit that led to a labyrinth of abandoned docks. The sirens grew louder, a menacing whine in the night air that sent shivers down his spine. Gabriel needed answers, and he was willing to use any means necessary to get them.

The warehouse, once a battleground for dominance, became a makeshift interrogation chamber. The stench of blood mingled with the metallic tang of fear as Gabriel slammed Scar against a brick wall. The werewolf whimpered, his bravado gone, replaced by a primal fear for his own survival.

"Where's the artifact?" he snarled, his voice laced with a dangerous edge. Each passing moment felt like a hammer blow against his already strained patience.

"Don't… know…" Scar stammered, blood trickling down his jaw. His defiance had crumbled under the brutal weight of Gabriel's presence.

Gabriel growled in frustration. Razor, the slippery gremlin, was a master of evasion. He wouldn't be easy to find, but find him he would. The thought of the artifact, a weapon of unknown power, slipping through their grasp was a chilling prospect.

The wail of sirens reached a crescendo as Gabriel shoved Scar back into the warehouse, rejoining the remaining Blood Moon prisoners. He scanned the room, a plan forming in his mind. They needed to leave a message, a clue, something that wouldn't arouse suspicion from the approaching authorities but would serve as a beacon to his unsuspecting human sister, Detective Riley Thorne.

He grabbed a discarded paint can and a can opener from a nearby toolbox. The metallic clang echoed in the warehouse, a counterpoint to the approaching sirens. With practiced ease, Gabriel sprayed a cryptic symbol – the emblem of the Lunar Eclipse pack – onto the warehouse wall with the paint. Then, with a few swift strokes of the can opener, he scratched a message beneath it: "The Alpha has spoken."

Chapter 2: Wounded Wolf

The penthouse, once a gleaming symbol of Gabriel Thorne's control, now resembled a battlefield casualty. Glass shards crunched underfoot amidst overturned furniture. The air hung heavy with the metallic tang of blood, a stark reminder of the previous night's bloody battle. Gabriel lay sprawled on a plush armchair, a symphony of aches pulsing through his body. The silver vial's effects had waned, leaving him weak and vulnerable.

He winced as Anya, her emerald eyes etched with concern, gently probed his shoulder wound with a sterilized cloth. The bite, a jagged puncture mark oozing a sickly green pus, throbbed with a malevolent life of its own.

"It's worse than I thought," Anya said, her voice a low growl laced with worry. "The venom is spreading faster than usual. You need rest, Alpha."

Gabriel scoffed, a low, humorless sound that scraped against his raw throat. Rest was a luxury he couldn't afford. The humiliation of the Blood Moon attack, the near-miss with the ar

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