Alaric's footsteps echoed on the quiet streets as he made his way back home. His mind was a whirlwind of thoughts, turning over the deal he had just made with the Blackwoods. It wasn't a choice he'd wanted to make, but he had no other options. Time was running out for Lucy, and every moment spent searching for answers felt like an eternity. He couldn't afford to trust anyone, but for now, he had to rely on the Blackwoods, at least until he got what he needed.
The cold night air brushed against his skin, but it did nothing to quell the fire of anger burning within him. His thoughts kept returning to the image of Lucy lying there, weak and helpless, cursed by those damned werewolves. The rage that simmered beneath the surface of his calm facade threatened to boil over every time he pictured her fragile form. They would pay—whoever had done this to her, they would pay in blood.
But first, he needed answers.