DEMI
Oh, lemon cake with a reckless filling. What had I agreed to? My suppressants sat bitter under my tongue, already unimpressed by my choices.
The training hall hit all at once: sweat, leather, metal, old blood, bodies striking mats hard enough to make the floor answer. Wolves moved in pairs and clusters, all muscle, speed, and easy violence. I stopped in the doorway, my pulse climbing for reasons that had nothing to do with fear and everything to do with pride being a deeply stupid organ.
“Don’t just stare at it,” Kate said, nudging my shoulder. “If you’re going to survive this pack, stop looking like the mats insulted your bloodline.”
I breathed through the scent blockers and pretended my nerves were decorative. Royal court politics had not killed me. Baking under a deadline ha
