Ragnar
He finished the reprimand, his voice a low, cutting blade meant to strip the last ounce of foolish rebellion from the two young shifters. He sent them stumbling toward the car with a final, dismissive gesture.
They understood, but that didn’t mean they would avoid punishment.
He turned, Lucia’s name on his lips, but the words died before they could form. His gaze fell to the object in his hand.
Frankenstein.
The book felt foreign, heavy, its sharp corners digging into his palm. A soft pink ribbon, pulled from her own hair, was tied around it. It was a ridiculously soft, feminine gesture wrapped around a story of profound darkness.
A contradiction. Just like her.
He stood there on the bustling city street, a warrior momentarily disarmed not by a blade, but by a book and a r
