Sa mundong puno ng mga lihim, si Laura ay nahulog sa bitag ng pag-ibig at pagtataksil. Matapos ang isang masakit na karanasan sa kanyang fiance na si Devon, nagdesisyon siyang maghiganti kasama ang kanyang dating mahal na si Lucien. Ngunit sa likod ng bawat hakbang ay may mga lihim na nagkukubli, at ang kanilang pag-ibig ay susubukin ng mga pagsubok at panganib. Sa gitna ng kaguluhan, isang hindi inaasahang balita ang magbabago sa lahat. Ano ang mangyayari kapag ang nakaraan ay muling bumalik upang manghimasok sa kanilang hinaharap?

I stood at the edge of the Ironwood territory, my boots sinking into the mud, the cold seeping through my coat. I hated being this close to their land. It smelled like wet dog and testosterone. It smelled like trouble. "You’re late, witch." The voice was a low rumble, something felt in the soles of my feet before it registered in my ears. I didn’t flinch. I refused to give him that satisfaction. I slowly turned my head, my amethyst eyes narrowing as I found him in the shadows of the tree line. Guilermo Santander. He stepped into the gray light, and for a second, the rain seemed to shy away from him. He was massive—six-foot-five of pure, predatory irritation. His dark hair was plastered to his forehead, silver streaks catching the gloom, and those eyes… God, those amber eyes were burning a hole straight through my defenses. "I’m not late," I said, my voice steady, though my pulse jumped. "You wolves just have no concept of patience." He stopped three feet from me. Too close. My skin began to prickle, the runic markings on my ribs flaring hot, reacting to the sheer mass of magical energy he radiated. It was suffocating. It was intoxicating. "And you witches have no concept of territory," Guilermo countered. He didn’t sound like the mindless beasts Elder Sibal warned us about. He sounded tired. He sounded like a man carrying the weight of a hundred years on shoulders that looked deceptively young. He sniffed the air near my neck, his nostrils flaring slightly. I stiffened. "You smell like sage and burnt sugar," he murmured, his voice dropping an octave, losing the edge of command and gaining something darker. "It’s giving me a headache." "Then stop breathing," I snapped. A corner of his mouth ticked up. A flash of a pointed canine. "Make me." The air between us snapped tight, like a rubber band stretched to its limit. My magic uncoiled in my chest, a purple haze drifting from my fingertips without my permission, reaching out to brush against the rugged leather of his jacket. He didn't pull away. He leaned in. And in that moment, standing in the freezing rain with a man who could rip my throat out, I realized two things. First, Elder Sibal was wrong; Guilermo wasn't a monster to be leashed. Second, I was in so much trouble.