Failed plans.

Evening had fallen over the first day since the city-wide Hunter lockdown on all werewolves in the city. Many werewolves were dying at the hands of his men, yet Damon Erikson didn’t feel pleased in any way.

His hands gripped the tempered glass of the balcony of his penthouse. The city lights were akin to tiny stars glittering in the night sky, and the sounds of the city filled his ears. He was much more used to the idyllic pace in the UK compared to the US. Nevertheless, he couldn’t doubt that this city was a central hub of activity.

The report of one of his men rang loudly through the speaker of his phone.

At some point, Damon cut the man off, tired of listening to drivel. If Aiden was still alive, he would have relegated his best friend to their duties. But alas, now he had to take charge of them by himself.

“And has there been words of Anna Clandestine?” He asked, listening for the answer half-heartedly.

There was a pause before the Hunter on the other end of the phone spluttered.