Third Person's POV While the young pair were pressed together in the shadows, kissing as though starved for each other, unable to part no matter how many breaths passed... on the other side, Damon was in a state no less foul than Olivia of the Darkmoon Pack. Tonight was Blackwood's annual celebration, yet his father had marched into the hall as if flaunting a victory trophy-bringing Quentin, the newly acknowledged bastard son, right at his side. Damon's gaze locked onto the silver cufflink gleaming on Quentin's sleeve. His wolf-an Alpha-born shadow-beast-bristled violently beneath his skin, eyes turning a dangerous feral red. That cufflink was Aysel's gift. His treasure. The first token she ever gave him when he began his internship at the company. "What gave you the right," he growled, voice edged with a low lupine rumble, "to touch what's mine?" Quentin glanced down, brushed his thumb across the cufflink, and raised a brow as if amused. "This?" he said lightly. He smiled-sharp and taunting like a young wolf testing boundaries. "Brother, you have good taste." Crack- Damon couldn't hold back. His fist flew. Quentin staggered from the blow, but to Damon's fury, the bastard didn't even bristle. He wiped the blood from his lip, and his grin only widened, the challenge in it almost feral. "I only borrowed a cufflink from your wardrobe," Quentin murmured, voice low enough no elders would hear."Is that worth such rage? Come on, Alpha Damon-look around. Half the pack is watching you." Indeed, several guests had already noticed the tension, whispering among themselves. Damon's fists tightened, claws threatening to pierce through skin. In merely a few days, Quentin had swaggered into the Blackwood estate, moved into the main house, and inserted himself into the company. He bore the title of second young master, but in truth, he had seized everything Damon once possessed alone: Status. Authority. Pack favor. Even the affection of their father. Earlier that evening, when they departed for Blackwood's feast, the once three-wolf family had become four. Damon's father didn't even discuss it-he simply commanded Quentin to share the front seat with him, leaving Damon and his mother to ride in the other car. Even Damon's mother, who used to defend him tooth and claw, had lately begun softening toward Quentin-no longer hostile, no longer protective of Damon as she once was. It was absurd. Cruel. Damon Blackwood-heir to the East's strongest pack, a prodigy born with Alpha dominion in his blood- being overshadowed by a bastard who wasn't even close to him in strength. Everything Quentin touched now... every resource, every privilege... should have been Damon's. And now Quentin had slipped his hand into Damon's private den-literally. That cufflink had been kept sealed away in Damon's wardrobe, preserved carefully, rarely used.Damon didn't believe for a second that Quentin had stumbled upon it by accident. How had he gotten the key? Who had granted him access to Damon's personal territory? A low snarl escaped Damon's throat. The more his fury burned, the brighter Quentin's smugness shone. He lifted his hand, letting the cufflink glint provocatively in the lantern light. "Seems I chose well," Quentin said softly. "This little thing really matters to you." He leaned closer, voice a playful taunt, meant only for Damon's ears. "But I can't help it-I like it too. And tell me, brother, do you think I can take everything you have? One piece... after another... until you can't guard anything at all?" He brushed the cufflink again, satisfaction all over his face. A fuse lit inside Damon's skull- BOOM- and every shred of his self-control disintegrated. He lunged. Quentin dodged the first blow, catching Damon's wrist with wolf-born reflexes. "Brother," he murmured, voice deceptively calm, "throwing punches in front of the whole pack isn't very becoming of the Blackwood heir. Don't embarrass yourself." But Damon only struggled harder, trying to land another swing. Quentin could have avoided it again-easily. But something unreadable flickered through his eyes... and he stopped moving. Damon's fist struck his jaw cleanly.Quentin's head snapped to the side. He staggered-but he didn't retaliate. Before Damon could register why, a loud, stinging crack echoed across the hall. A slap. But it hadn't hit Quentin. It hit Damon. Damon's hand flew to his cheek, skin burning. He stared in disbelief... at the wolf who delivered it- his father. Alpha Blackwood. His scent cold, his expression darker than a brewing storm. And the entire feast fell into stunned silence.