Perry's POV
The moment I confirmed Phoebe wasn't among them, every restraint I'd maintained for her sake shattered like glass.
The beast that had been clawing at my ribs, demanding blood, finally broke free from its cage.
Eight warriors launched themselves at me in perfect synchronization—a coordinated assault meant to overwhelm through sheer numbers. Their strategy might have worked against any other opponent.
They forgot who they were facing.
My wolf erupted in a bone-rattling roar that sent tremors through the ground beneath our feet. Trees shuddered. Birds scattered from branches in panicked flocks.
They'd forgotten the title I carried: The Mad King.
The first warrior to reach me discovered exactly why that name struck terror into the hearts of seasoned fighters. My claws raked across his chest, tearing through muscle and bone like paper. His ribcage cracked open with a wet, satisfying sound.
