41. Bullets

Huh.

Father, Sinclair had called the Lycan King.

I'm looking between them, noting the differences and similarities. Lycan King Fenrir has moon-white hair with green eyes that indicate the royal line.

Sinclair has none of that, but the facial structure and expressions... it's like watching two opposites mirror each other. The stoic demeanor, the chilling, piercing stare, the overconfident poise, and most of all, the arrogant strut of a man who knows he owns the place.

Yes. Sinclair's walking over to the dais, and the anger in his eyes has nothing to do with me or Alaric. At least, not yet.

He's so angry, the aura in the hall has turned...red and hot. Fierce like a burning furnace. I gape at him. I've seen so many sides to him, but never this. Never this brooding, powerful male who could crush anything that stood in his path.

I take a step forward, fingers twitching with the need to touch him.

"Fenrir," Queen Zephyr breathes, rising fro