The royal packhouse buzzed with whispers, the air electric with gossip that spread like wildfire after Lilith’s first night in Jackson’s quarters. From warriors sharpening blades to omegas bustling in the kitchens, the packhouse hummed with speculation. Some marveled at how the prince and the hybrid outcast had grown so close, their bond a mystery born in shadows. Others, green with envy, muttered that Lilith had seduced their charming prince, her vampire heritage a stain on his legacy. A few questioned if it was a fleeting fling or a true mate bond, their doubts clashing with the undeniable pull radiating from the pair. Jackson and King Torren caught every whisper, their alpha senses attuned to the pack’s pulse. The Crescent Ball’s ambush had exposed Lilith’s role as the priestess reborn,
