The royal packhouse’s war room was a fortress of strategy, its stone walls etched with lunar runes that glowed faintly under torchlight, the air was thick with the scents of ink and leather, the massive oak table at its center strewn with maps, weapon sketches, glowing crystal orbs from the white witches, and resource ledgers. The air thrummed with purpose as Lilith and Jackson entered, fresh from the Isle of Light, their mate marks—fresh, raw bites on their necks—pulsing with the bond’s fire. Now, with the diplomatic tour looming, Lilith, Jackson, King Torren, Marcus, Lucas, and Greg gathered to forge a plan to unite the twelve packs against the vampire threat.
King Torren stood at the table’s head, his silver-streaked hair catching the glow, his alpha aura commanding, Marcus standing ri
