Elias stormed back and forth across the ornate rug in the living room, his hands clasped behind his back and his face twisted in anger. The dim lighting of the room did little to soften the harsh lines of his face. His sharp eyes flicked toward the clock mounted on the far wall. The wolves he had sent out to follow Freya should have reported back by now.

His daughter’s insolence was an infection, and it was spreading. First, she had defied him by sneaking out to meet with her so-called mother, a woman he had long written off as dead to their family. Then, she had the audacity to...