The ballroom shimmered with an excess of wealth and pretense, crystal glasses catching light like trapped stars. I watched Emma from across the room, her dark waves cascading over bare shoulders, her green eyes meeting mine briefly before returning to the dignitaries surrounding her. The mark I'd left on her neck was visible, proudly displayed, and something primal in me stirred at the sight. My queen.
The Golden Compass Hotel had outdone itself for our celebration. Moonstone chandeliers hung from vaulted ceilings, casting an ethereal glow that made even the most weathered politicians look somewhat angelic. The scent of night-blooming jasmine drifted from elaborate arrangements, mingling with the more primal notes of wolf and Lycan, perfume and cologne, desire and ambition. Politics neve
