Aria sat in the far corner of the library, a soft beam of afternoon light spilling through the tall windows, warming the floor around her. Dust danced in the air as her eyes moved hungrily over the pages of a worn leather bound book. The scent of old parchment, ink, and pinewood shelves grounded her, comforted her—helped her forget, for a little while, the weight of everything she carried.
She had buried herself in the books of the Lycans.
Book after book had been pulled from the shelves—ancient histories, wild legends, scholarly texts on lycan bloodlines and the origins of their species. She read about the first transformation, the way moonlight once drove the beast to madness before discipline and rank were forged.
She even found fragments on mates—how rare and unbreakable the bond wa
