RYKER’S POV
Sweat drenched my tunic as I slammed the chamber door, the heavy oak crashing against stone, the sound swallowed by these soundproof walls. My chest heaved, my boots scuffing the rug as I stumbled forward, the air thick with smoke and the sour reek of spilled wine. Elder Nightshade’s voice pounded my skull—Selenea alive, mated to Lukas, Alpha of Crescent Moon—and my knees buckled, my hand clawing the bedpost, wood splintering under my grip, splinters stabbing my palm. Blood welled, hot and sticky, dripping down my wrist, and I roared, the scream tearing my throat raw, bouncing uselessly in this stolen castle—her castle.
I spun, my fist smashing the table, glass shattering, the goblet’s shards slicing my knuckles, blood splattering red across the stone floor. My breath rasped
