Percy's POV
Shepherd strikes again. The bastard keeps coming for my territory like a dog with a bone, never learning that he can't touch what's mine. This time he brought reinforcements, but they're nothing compared to my warriors. My pack isn't made up of pampered pretty boys from established bloodlines. These are rogues, outcasts, the ones other packs threw away like garbage. They're dangerous, scarred, and absolutely lethal.
Every single one of them earned their place here by surviving on their own. That kind of desperation breeds fighters who know the value of what they're protecting.
