Luka
The Hollow Moon territory announced itself a mile out, the road went from cracked county blacktop to fresh smooth asphalt at some invisible property line, and stayed that way. I let the Harley open up on it. The engine came up under me in a low clean roar, and the wind pulled the smell of the place in through my helmet: pine, cut grass, woodsmoke, and under all of it the layered scent of a big pack, dozens of wolves in one place, the particular musk of a bloodline that had been in the same ground for a hundred years.
I’d been playing human so long the smell of that many wolves still put a hum in my teeth.
The gates were open for the party. Solar lights illuminated the drive. Valets in matched vests were waving cars through. There was a line of them idling up toward the packhouse wi
