By the eleventh week, Le Refuge du Loup no longer felt like a fortress. It felt like a vibrating, golden crucible.
The rapid, supernatural gestation had reached its terrifying peak. Elara’s stomach was fully rounded, her skin flushed and practically humming with the visible static of the Alpha’s aura. She was exhausted, her human bones aching under the weight of the apex predator growing inside her, but she had never felt more fiercely alive.
Lucian, however, was running on pure, unadulterated willpower.
He had abandoned his suits and his corporate empire entirely. He lived in low-slung sweatpants, his broad, heavily scarred chest constantly bare to maintain the vital skin-to-skin conduit. The dark circles under his amber eyes were deep, his cheekbones sharp from the immense magical
