The moment I found her, my fated mate—the only good and right thing in my dark, hollow life—she was taken from me by my enemies. She was gone, ripped from my arms, a feeling more painful than if my heart had been torn from my chest.

I changed that day. I didn’t see myself as Odhran, loyal soldier to the king of the Scottish Lycans, any longer. I became scarred, emotionless, and soulless. And over the decades, I became stronger, more deadly. I turned into a killing machine, a warlord who took lives because mine had no meaning any longer.

I realized I became this male for a reason. To take down the organization that stole and enslaved what was mine by right and fate. And I knew that because I found her, I found them. They thought they could take her, keep my mate from me. They didn’t know I’d destroy them because of it.