The royal packhouse glowed softly in the predawn light, its marble halls and moonstone inlays catching the first rays filtering through the vast windows of Jackson’s quarters. He awoke to the intoxicating warmth of Lilith tucked in his arms, her scent, sweet as jasmine and wild as the forest—enveloping him like a spell. Her raven hair spilled across his chest, her breaths soft against his skin, and a smile curled his lips as he traced their journey. Months ago, he’d buried his love, stifling the mate bond to protect her from the pack’s scorn and vampire schemes. They’d hidden in stolen moments, their love a secret whispered in shadows. Now, she lay in his wolf’s den, the heart of the packhouse, where she belonged—openly his, despite the dangers their exposure brought.
The Crescent Ball’s
