The silence after Lobo's body hit the ground was thick—heavy enough to smother even the bravest wolf's tongue.
No one moved.
Not the guards. Not Lobo's wife, who knelt in a pool of his blood, trembling and frozen as she sobbed silently. And not Odessa, who stood just behind me, her breath slow but unsteady.
I let the blood drip from my claws before retracting them and turning back to the gathering of soldiers. Their expressions were a mix of fear, hesitation, and awe.
Fourteen pack warriors and not one dared lift a blade or even move a muscle as they gawked at me.
"You saw what I did," I said calmly, my voice sounding like a sharpened blade across the air. "And if any of you are loyal to a dead tyrant rather than your starving kin, you may step forward now and follow him in his fate."
Suddenly, the front man-broad-shouldered and eyes burning with tension—took a slow knee, lowering his head.
