She strides into the clearing like a f*****g hurricane in human skin.
She wears no cloak. No armor.
Just a long, sheer black slip—no panties, no shame. Her breasts bare beneath it, n*****s slick with cold and the heat radiating from the circle.
The mark between her thighs pulses.
The collar around her throat thrums.
And the scent of her—heat, sweat, magic, want—hits the gathered wolves like a gut punch.
Dozens of them.
Half-shifted. Panting. Pacing. Restless.
Some already hard. Some already wet.
But all eyes are on her.
Vera steps into the circle. Kneels.
Not in submission.
In domination.
At the edge of the circle, Rael watches. Arms crossed. Every muscle in his jaw clenched tight.
Only he doesn’t stop her.
He waits.
Vera reaches down and tugs at the hem of her slip.
The e
