The red Ducati roared to a halt in front of the grand hotel, its engine ticking as it cooled. Zoriana didn't rush. She took a moment to pull off her helmet, her heart drumming a steady, rhythmic beat of war. A few weeks ago, she would have arrived in the passenger seat of Ryder’s SUV, wearing a dress he chose, playing the part of the silent, supportive Luna. Today, she was the driver. Today, she was a storm.
She dismounted with a lethal grace. Security guards at the entrance froze, their eyes tracking the ivory silk of her suit. They looked at her with undisguised admiration, but beneath that, there was confusion—they could smell the raw, Alpha power rolling off her, but they couldn't reconcile it with the beautiful woman standing before them. Her heels clicked sharply against the marble
