Dante didn't stop walking until he was deep in the pack's territory, his mind a storm of fury and fear.
Someone wanted Bella.
Someone other than Mikhail.
And the idea that there was another enemy waiting in the shadows, watching, waiting to strike—
It made him fucking sick.
He needed answers.
And there was only one person who could give them to him.
Which was why, for the first time in years—
Dante Rodrigo stepped into the forbidden lands of the rogue territory.
The air was thick with the scent of blood, of wolves without a pack, of men who had been abandoned, exiled, forgotten.
And in the center of it all?
A throne of bones.
And sitting on it—watching Dante with sharp, calculating eyes—
Was Ronan Blackmoor.
The King of the Rogues.
Ronan smirked, tilting his head.
"Well, well. If it isn't the mighty Alpha Rodrigo."
Dante ignored the taunt, his blue eyes sharp.
"I need information."
Ronan leaned forward, intrigued.
"And what exactly are you offering in return?"
Dante's jaw clenched.
Because he knew.
If he was going to protect Bella?
If he was going to win this war?
He was going to have to make a deal with the devil.