{Damon’s POV}

“Well, that tracks.”

The acrid tang of smoke clung to my tongue as I limped through the wreckage of Mallon’s mansion. My thigh burned with every step, though the wound was already knitting itself together, slow and ugly. Some injuries demanded time, no matter how strong the wolf. ‘I might actually need to stitch this.’

I glanced back once. The mansion’s proud silhouette, now broken and scarred beyond recognition from our fight, stood like a carcass on display. Papers littered the halls, furniture crushed beneath claw marks and body shaped holes, the signs of our brawl carved into every surface.

The werewolf world was a… volatile place. But...