Chapter 2

Patrick turned the vial of serum over in his hands, then placed it back in the freezer where he kept it. He had neither the means nor the right people to produce more. The scientists who had worked on the project were dead, and he had no idea where to find replacements. He didn't have the knowledge to navigate that field. Nereus had kept all information about the Barclays to himself, sharing only the bare minimum with him and Alastair.

His father had decided to leave right after the clash with the pack and the vampires. When Patrick had expressed his desire for revenge, Alastair had entrusted him with the few surviving werewolves and disappeared.

Three days ago, he had contacted him again to inform him that a memorial service for Nereus would be held in one of the old estates they still maintained in the former MacGowan territory.

Patrick had attended the ceremony and left right after. Alastair, on the other hand, had stayed at the castle.

Patrick couldn't remember ever seeing his father in that state. He had withdrawn from everything, unlike his usual habit of throwing himself into a new project.

For decades, they had worked side by side as mercenaries, always at the service of the highest bidder. They had moved constantly, never staying in one place too long, careful to avoid political entanglements. They had always followed the same path—together.

But now, it seemed their lives were heading in different directions. Perhaps it was time for him to find his own place, one no longer in his father's shadow, free from the weight of his family and his clan of origin.

Patrick had no intention of letting the Barclays win.

Not out of brotherly love—he and Nereus had never been particularly close—but because it was a power struggle, and that stirred both his ambition and his resolve.

He didn't know how yet, but one thing was certain: he would defeat Christopher