On the bright side, Asher was no longer snarling and frothing out the mouth. The only caveat was that my fickle magic hadn’t taken away the rest of his anger, because without an explanation or apology, he turned around and grabbed Clint by the shirt a second time.

The battered but slowly healing Judge was thrown to his knees just a few feet in front of me. Even though his face was a mottled and swollen mass of flesh, he managed to hold onto the air of superiority that clung to him. Its strength surpassed that of the scent of blood, and was stronger than the expensive cologne he wore, that even now I could smell.

“Apologize to your Luna.”

When Asher spoke his voice resembled the endless pit I had seen in his eyes, the very one I somehow chased away using magic. His hair wasn’t even disheveled from the fight—his heart rate barely elevated. His spine was made of pure steel, as rigid and unbreakable as his stance.

Clint Armstrong