In the aftermath of the Crescent Ball ambush, the royal pack simmered with tension, the air thick with the scent of blood and betrayal. Jackson stood in the alpha’s war room, his wounds from the fight still aching despite his rapid healing, as Torren, Marcus, and Greg pored over maps and reports. The vampires’ infiltration had confirmed their worst fears: spies had slipped through using dark magic, their glamours woven from forbidden rites that masked their undead stench. The attack wasn’t a full assault but a probe, designed to unearth secrets about Lilith and Lirien. Jackson’s mind raced, the mate bond pulling him toward her even as duty anchored him here. “They knew about the bond,” he said, voice low. “They mentioned the priestess tying to me. Harlan has something to do with it—Blaze a
