The gala at the Blood-Moon Stronghold was a masterpiece of atmospheric deception. Crystal chandeliers, infused with captured moonlight, hung from the vaulted ceilings, casting a shimmering glow over the elite of the werewolf world. To the outside observer, it was a celebration of the "Blood-Moon and State Union" alliance. To Willow, it was a minefield.
She adjusted the high collar of her emerald velvet gown—the signature attire of "Lady Iris." The disguise was more than just fabric and jewels; it was a layer of ancient, scent-masking alchemy she had perfected in the Hidden-Vale. To Hunter and his pack, she was a cold, untouchable representative of a Northern conglomerate. She was a business partner. She was a stranger.
She was anyone but the girl he had left to drown in the Black-Vein Ri
