The boy that found him was no longer a child. He looked ragged and worn-thin, pelt lack-luster and eyes dull. Gabriel recognized this all too well. Conor was not made to lead, and it showed. Deeper in his thoughts he considered doing what he had once sought; destroying Dahlia de Mai ultimately. It would not take much to bring the apocalypse down on a pack whose leader showed all too obvious signs of weakness. Had he been younger, there would not have been hesitation to begin another war.
Luckily, Gabriel’s purpose offered a narrow scope of vision. The wolfish Aquila pulled his lips away from his teeth at the boy’s display, his own hackles rising in response to the Alpha’s presence. “Looking for you,” he spat, golden eyes burning. He hated him simply for the blood that was carried in his veins. How could he have missed the familiarity in Itachi’s eyes, in his face, in his very way of existing? There was no longer room for doubt within him; only hate.
“A girl in my pack was raped by a wolf,” he explained, advancing. “A wolf with purple eyes.” The accusation was spoken indirectly, but his body screamed it.
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