Marco sat rigidly, his tall frame motionless as the firelight cast flickering shadows across his face.
At that moment, the proud alpha felt a helplessness deeper than defeat.
The tribe he took pride in, the people he had sworn to protect with his life-their only value now was as guides and helpers in another hunt.
It was a humiliation.
But outside the cave, the stifled cries of pain and the children's quiet sobs doused the last flicker of defiance in his heart like ice water.
Pride could not heal the wounded.
Dignity could not free the children from the fate of being werewolves.
He slowly closed his eyes. When he opened them again, only an alpha's resolve remained.
"Why should I believe you have the ability to deal with him?" Marco asked gravely.
"I've heard of his vicious reputation. He's the most notorious werewolf the United Kingdom has seen in decades. He's a beast through and through, a madman who takes pleasure in torturing people to death and even prides himself on infecting others."
Marco's voice sank, carrying a revulsion that came from deep in his bones.
Lupin unfastened his shirt cuff and slowly rolled up his left sleeve.
Old scars crisscrossed that arm, but among them, a savage, long-healed bite mark was still clearly visible.
It was a mark that should never have appeared on a child's arm.
"When I was five," Lupin said softly, his voice stirring heavy echoes in the empty stone cave, "he found me."
"My father had offended him, so this was how he took revenge."
"I know better than anyone what he is."
"And I want him gone from this world more than anyone."
That calm account carried more force than any furious roar.
Marco looked at the scars on Lupin's arm, then at