She wakes to silence.
Heavy. Sacred.
The kind of silence that can only exist in the aftermath of storms, or death.
Or transformation.
Vera doesn’t know who she is anymore. But she knows this: she is not the woman who walked into the ritual house.
That woman had a spine made of steel. A plan in every breath. A knife in her boot and vengeance wrapped around her ribs.
This one?
This one lies trembling in the arms of the monster who claimed her.
His c**k is still buried inside her—his thick knot finally softened, but still warm, still there—and for some reason she doesn’t push him away.
She doesn’t even want to.
Rael’s chest rises and falls against her back, every inhale brushing her damp skin. His arm is heavy over her ribs, the weight of it anchoring her to the moment.
The bond be
