The vial in Sofias hand pulsed with soft, artificial blue light, reminding one of a shallow grave.
Six hours.
“Rip it from her fingers”, my wolf snarled, his voice a jagged roar in the back of my mind. “Snap the brittle bond of her neck. Bath the snow in her gold blooded arrogance”.
The Midnight king didn’t understand diplomacy. He didn’t understand that if the glass shattered, the girl in the vault dies. To him, Sofia Thorne was a predator encroaching on our territory, a thief who had put a leash on our mate. He wanted to feel her pulse stop beneath his claws.
I forced my hands to stay flat at my sides, though the skin of my knuckles stung as my bones fought to shift. “You expect me to believe that you brought the cure all this way out of the goodness of your heart, Sofia?”
“I don’t
