“So this is about superstition.”
“It is about respect,” he counters.
I lean back in my seat and stare out the window.
“So you kept me because you were afraid of angering the Moon Goddess.”
He does not answer directly, and that silence feels heavier than anything else.
The car pulls into a long driveway lined with lanterns, and ahead of us a massive estate glows under the night sky, music drifting faintly through the air.
When we step out of the car, I can already feel the shift in energy.
Power.
Hierarchy.
Expectation.
Inside, the ballroom is enormous, filled with wolves dressed in fine fabrics and expensive jewelry, their scents layered over each other in a dizzying mix of dominance and pride.
The second we enter, heads turn.
Eyes lock onto me.
Whispers ripple outward like a
