The medical wing of the Blood-Moon Stronghold was a sterile sanctuary of white tile and humming machinery, a stark contrast to the ancient, blood-stained stone of the Great Hall. It was the only place in the territory where the primitive scent of the pack was suppressed by the chemical tang of antiseptic and high-grade silver-nitrate.
Seraphina stood in the shadows of the laboratory’s observation deck, her fingers tracing the sharp edge of a glass vial. Her eyes, usually a calculated, charming blue, were now dark with a frantic, lethal desperation.
The GHC’s raid had been a disaster for the pack, but for Seraphina, it had provided the perfect smoke-screen. While Hunter was busy roaring at the steel shutters and Willow was being herded into the auxiliary holding cells with her "rogue" br
