The Crescent Moon Pack’s holding cells were cold, dark, and deep underground. They were made to break strong wolves slowly. The walls smelled of blood, old magic, and something worse betrayal.

Darius sat against the back wall, his hands chained above his head, his legs shackled. His shirt was torn. His lips were cracked. He hadn't been fed properly in two days. No one spoke to him. They looked at him like he was diseased.

Some said he’d gone mad.

He laughed too loud. He mumbled names in his sleep. He scratched at the walls when no one was watching.

But it wasn’t madness.

It was the bond.

It was...