Watching her werewolf mate snap the demon’s neck with ease did nothing to her.
How could it?
The dead look in his golden eyes when he had rejected her — without a flicker of hesitation — was burned into her memory.
She refused to be swooned again by his kind voice, his magnetic pull.
Werewolves were all the same in the end.
Most craved power above all else, worshipping rank, bound by primal instincts.
Still...
Jo shivered slightly at the riddle left behind by the dying Aamon demon.
It might have sounded cryptic to others — but to her, it was clear as day.
The darkness... the seek...
She forced herself not to think about it.
As Dante stood, wiping blood from his hands, he turned — facing her once more.
Those golden eyes locked onto hers, steady and piercing.
Jo swallowed hard,
