Third Person's POV
The amber glow in Lance's wolf eyes reflected the candlelight as cedar pheromones suddenly enveloped Adelaide, carrying a hint of drunken richness.
The temporary mark on the back of Adelaide's neck suddenly grew warm—the irresistible attraction between werewolf mates made her subconsciously grip his hand. Her fingertips touched the pulsing gland in his palm, transmitting the same frequency of joyous tremors.
Adelaide looked at Lance's profile and his defined jawline from the side, forcing herself to avert her gaze; otherwise, her heartbeat would be uncontrollable.
When the banquet reached the dessert course, Irene led the Warscar Training Camp students toward the main table.
Craig, holding a champagne glass, was enough to make Cyrus rise in greeting voluntarily.
Si
