"Now!" Kieran shouted, just as the knife pierced Sinclair's skin, precisely as instructed. The blood would send Damon's guards into a frenzy, giving Kieran and his men the advantage they needed to succeed.

At his command, his guards sprang into action, attacking the royal guards nearest them. Damon was not a fool; Kieran had been allowed only a few guards—not enough to outnumber Damon's forces. It was a risky gambit, attacking while outnumbered, but a necessary one.

As Kieran drew a knife from his boot, Sinclair twisted away from Damon, the blade shearing his neck but inflicting no serious wounds. Rolling away from the prince, Sinclair roared, ripping off his gag. He then easily twisted his wrists, breaking the weakened handcuffs his men had prepared. He quickly discarded the decorative chains around his shoulders and turned on Damon.

A fierce glow still burned in Sinclair's eyes, now complemented by a hungry grin. The prince paled. "Mine," Sinclair growled. "You are mine, and your blood will stain my teeth when this is over."

Scarcely a moment passed before the prince reacted, fleeing Sinclair's attack as the alpha lunged, claws extending from his fingertips. A chase ensued, the prince dodging and weaving while Sinclair, transforming into a massive wolf, pursued him relentlessly.

The prince and alpha ignored the ongoing battle across the room, though Kieran glanced their way when he could. The gambit appeared successful; Damon's guards, distracted by the scent of blood, were unprepared for the assault. Kieran's guards pressed their advantage, swiftly eliminating the prince's forces until they were evenly matched. Sinclair's teeth bared as he stalked the prince, driving him into a corner. His massive paws pounded the ground, ever closer to his prey, hackles raised, nose wrinkled in furious anticipation of the kill.

How dare Damon—on top of everything else—threaten Ella, his perfect mate? The thought of Damon with her blood on his hands, licking it from his paws, ignited Sinclair's fury. He would tear this wolf to pieces.

Damon darted back and forth in the corner, tail low, ears pinned back in a snarl. He knew he was at a disadvantage—unable to face Sinclair's gigantic wolf alone. However, he possessed his own advantages: Damon was clever, ruthless, and fast. And he had nothing to lose, unlike Sinclair.

As Sinclair closed in, Damon feinted left, then dashed right, evading Sinclair's snapping jaws and diving under a table, seeking to reach his men and regroup.

Just as his forelegs disappeared, a loud crack echoed through the room, followed by a horrifying howl. Even the guards engaged in battle paused, turning to see Sinclair dragging Damon from under the table, the prince's twisted leg clamped in his jaws.

With tremendous force, Sinclair hurled the wolf onto the table. The wolf yelped, the sound of breaking bones echoing over the battle's clamor. Kieran, the first to recover from his shock, yelled, "Move!" His forces pressed their attack, slitting the throats of some of the prince's guards and tying others, rendering them helpless.

As they worked, Sinclair leaped onto the table, which groaned under his weight. He crawled over the whimpering, shuddering wolf, his face a mask of furious rage.

Suddenly, there was a flash, and the wolf transformed back into its human form. The prince lay small and vulnerable beneath the enormous wolf, his leg grotesquely twisted, his ribcage crushed.

"Please," the prince gasped, his eyes filled with rage and fear.

The wolf snarled at the word, placing a paw on the prince's chest and pressing down, eliciting a cry of pain. Sinclair lowered his face until his fangs were inches from the man's face, their eyes meeting. His fierce green gaze conveyed his intent: he would let the man see the wolf who would kill him one last time. He would know who, precisely, ended his life, and why.

The prince's fear morphed into a pained sneer as he spat at Sinclair, the spittle landing on his own cheek. "You pathetic excuse for an alpha," he hissed. "You will never lead them—you will never—"

His last words were lost as Sinclair roared to the sky, then snapped his head down, sinking his jaws into the prince's throat and ripping it out. Blood poured from the man's neck as the light left his eyes. Sinclair slowly turned, looking at Kieran, his men, and the prince's guards, either dead or incapacitated. Blood dripped from his jaws, his eyes burning with an unearthly green light.

Awestruck, Kieran knelt. His surviving men quickly followed suit, bowing before Sinclair, who remained standing on the table, breathing heavily.

"My King," Kieran murmured.

A bright flash of light ended the transformation, the giant black wolf replaced by the alpha who would be king. He stood on the table, ignoring the corpse at his feet. He wiped the blood from his face, then slowly licked it from his teeth, savoring it.

"Come," Sinclair said to his men. "We have work to do."

Kieran and his men stood at attention as Sinclair descended from the table and strode out the door. The prince's death had gone according to plan, but the rest

They reached a third-floor balcony overlooking the city engulfed in war.

"Release a statement to the press, with photos," Sinclair ordered, his voice low. "I want the prince's corpse on every news channel. Unlike our side, the prince was truly the head of the snake." He turned to Kieran. "With him gone, the wolves he led will fall under my control."

Kieran nodded, though his face remained worried. "Sir…"

"I know," Sinclair interrupted, turning back to the city. "That only ends half the war. What in the hell was that man thinking, revealing our secret to the humans?"

"He underestimated them," Kieran suggested, looking at the smoke rising over the city. "Humans are not wolves, but they are not sheep either. They will fight for their freedom."

"Now, our job is to convince them that we have no intention of taking it away," Sinclair mused. "But how the hell do we do that?"