Chapter 269

Dante’s question hung in the air, heavy as a blade inches from skin.

“Why,” the De Luca said slowly, “did you tell me what I needed to do? Why warn me?”

Drakon should’ve walked away.

He should’ve smirked some cruel remark, let the Alpha stew in fear, let the curse eat away at the Luna the same way his own beloved had been consumed centuries ago.

That would’ve been justice.

Poetic justice, even.