Being the chief of a werewolf tribe was never about honor or pride for Adir—it was about dominance. Control. Power. And anyone who thought otherwise was a fool. From the moment the mantle was forced on him, Adir had ruled with a heavy, iron fist and a snarling growl. Respect was demanded, never earned. Fear? That was his favorite form of loyalty.

Every day, Adir carried the weight of a tribe too scared to challenge him and too dependent to leave. Problems? They never stopped. Squabbles, betrayals, territory disputes he dealt with them all. Not because he cared, but because he had to keep his grip tight on the necks of his people, lest they forget who truly held power.

By night, Adir was a storm waiting to erupt. His hulking frame slouched in a creaking lounge chair, one hand gripping a half-empty mug of pale ale like it was the only thing keeping him from tearing someone’s throat out. The bitterness of the drink matched the bitterness in his heart, and he welcomed it. At least the ale didn’t whine or ask questions.

So when a knock came at his door sharp, intrusive Adir’s jaw clenched. His lip curled in a silent snarl.

He slammed the mug down with enough force to rattle the table.

“Of course,” he growled under his breath, voice low and threatening.

“They can’t let me have a moment of f***ing peace.”

He stood, looming and menacing, his presence alone enough to silence a room. The deadbolts clicked one by one, tension rolling off him like heat from a wildfire.

The door swung open, and there stood Kang Min.

Adir’s eyes narrowed dangerously. The softening others expected at the sight of a familiar face never came—instead, his glare was sharp and cold, his tone laced with venom.

“What the hell do you want, Jeongin?” he snapped, voice like gravel.

“This better be good. Or you’re going to regret disturbing me.”