NOLA REYNOLDS

The Lycan King leaving had opened a wound in my heart that stayed sore until the weight of his crown in my hands distracted me.

“Come on, this way! Into the lower levels!” A red-faced guard who had opened the tin cage of his helmet was yelling so loudly beside me that I jolted.

I turned to see that he was herding the crowd of sobbing residents in a neat line through the underground gates I hadn't noticed before, a different procession of somber-faced men with tightened jaws and the nettled garb of newly appointed infantry shining against their pale and coffee-colored skins.

What the hell was going...