THE ECHOES of Waldemar’s slammed door vibrated through the chamber, a physical punctuation mark to the storm that had just raged between them. Selene remained slumped against the wall, her body a battlefield where the remnants of Waldemar’s fury still warred with her own spiraling desires. The terrifying heat that had consumed her lingered, a phantom flame licking at her veins. The Moonbind, fueled by his potent rage, felt less like a bond and more like an insidious, inescapable disease.
He had been right. She felt the absence of that raw, overwhelming connection the moment he left, an empty ache that was almost as agonizing as the consuming fire. You’re addicted, he’d said. The truth of it made bile rise in her throat. She hated him, hated this curse that had twisted her very essence, ye
