VERON’S POV
The velvet couch sank beneath my weight, the dim glow of the chandelier casting shadows across my chambers, the air thick with the scent of jasmine and sweat. My hands gripped the hips of the maid straddling me, her back arched, her curves bouncing as she moved, her breathy moans a rhythm that fueled my pulse. Another maid knelt beside me, her lips crashing against mine, her tongue eager, her hands roaming my chest. I paid them well—gold for their silence, their bodies, their willingness to sate my hunger. This was my world, my privilege as Veron, Beta of the BloodMoon pack, a man who took what he wanted, consequences be damned.
My mind drifted, the pleasure a haze, as memories clawed their way up. Elara, Sebastian’s mother, her defiance, her refusal to yield. She’d loved ano
