I clenched my hands into fists as I stared at the television screen.
The man speaking was the so-called True Lord of the North—an elusive figure I'd been hearing about for weeks from Alphas across the continent.
He was a self-proclaimed Alpha King of North America, rallying rogue werewolves under one cause:
To rid the world of witches.
I had pushed him to the back of my mind, especially since rogue attacks had died down recently. But now, there he was—calm, confident, and seated somewhere off-screen, speaking directly to the world after hijacking the largest independent news network since the war began.
"Are none of the personnel able to do something about their towers?" Odessa asked from where she sat, visibly shaken.
I glanced at her, then turned to Layla, who shook her head grimly.
"They've all been taken over by rogues. It was a joint surprise attack. They're miles away from help. The neighboring packs are trying to reach the towers, but there's been no word yet."
Fuck.
