"Ziva is not here," Roman pointed out to Griffin through the Matebond.
And for once, Griffin was grateful for that connection—unlike the other times Roman filled his head with absolute nonsense. Only pack members could mind-link with one another. Theirs, however, was different.
It allowed Griffin to take that information and relay it seamlessly to his people, then return to Roman without missing a beat. Messages moved silently between them effortlessly, passing through the room without ever being heard.
"That is a problem then," Griffin grumbled in his head. "We haven’t even started, and the plan’s already falling apart. Goddess help us all."
According to the plan, aside from Angus, Ziva, the witch, was their priority. They were supposed to keep an eye on her and, at the signal, take her out. With her gone, the witches would be disorganized and easier to deal with.
Except now, how were they supposed to take out a witch who wasn’t even in sight?
"You didn’t actually think this was going to be easy. Angus isn’t stupid," Roman said.
And that was saying a lot, coming from him.
"In that case, we have to find the witch. Micah said Angus rarely goes anywhere without her. They’re practically joined at the hip. So she’s probably somewhere around the compound as we speak—"
"Or invisible," Roman cut in.
"What?"
"They don’t know our plans the same way we don’t know theirs. But one thing is clear—we’re gunning for Angus. And what better way for his daughter to protect him than to remain invisible at his side?" Roman reasoned. "Witch magic."
"Damn," Griffin muttered, impressed.
"Damn, indeed," Roman said, his voice pitching higher with excitement. "I think all that time spent with Asher in the Fae realm must have rubbed off on me."
Griffin snorted. "Something all your years together couldn’t achieve? Hallelujah."
"Fuck off," Roman shot back.
"I better get this message to our resident demon then. Except, where the fuck is Micah?" Griffin had no idea.
The plan was simple. Micah wouldn’t reveal himself until the right moment. Then—poof—he’d appear and drag Angus straight to hell while the fight continued here.
Meanwhile, Roman looked around the hall, searching for Angus, who was currently familiarizing himself with the elders who had betrayed him.
Focused on him, Roman’s green irises shifted, the color deepening before warping into the slit, reflective shape of a hound’s eye. Those creatures were far more attuned to the unseen, capable of sensing disturbances far beyond ordinary perception.
The world around him dulled, sounds thinning into the background as his focus sharpened. And there it was—a heavy, suffocating aura pulsed at Angus’s side. It was thick and unnatural, like something coiled and waiting.
"Just as I thought," Roman said in his head. "Angus is not alone."
And he was impressed—more than he expected to be—with how much his powers had grown these past few days. Roman couldn’t wait for Violet to return. He already had a number of ideas on how he could thank her.
"I’ll pass the message around. We’re switching to plan B. Hopefully, Micah gets it wherever he is."
Meanwhile, while everyone was quietly plotting his death, Angus was making himself at home.
"Elder Felix," Angus called out, the distaste in his voice saying exactly what he thought of him. "Nice to see you’re still on your feet."
Although his hair had completely gone gray, the werewolf didn’t look like someone who had lived over a hundred and fifty years. He still stood straight, though his movements were slower, and faint lines marked his face.


At that question, the elders’ gazes flicked toward Elijah, as if silently asking him—what now?
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