The room was stone and shadow.
No candles. No fire. Just moonlight spilling in through a narrow window like the eye of something ancient.... watching. Waiting. The door had locked behind her with a click that settled into her spine like a second heartbeat. Jasmine didn’t call for help. Didn’t test the handle. She knew what this was.
Her breath bloomed white in the cold air.
The bed was made of furs. Soft, thick, piled high atop rough wood. No sheets. No modesty. The scent of wolves lingered in the fibers... feral, warm, masculine. Jasmine stood at the center of it all, arms loose at her sides, heart thudding in a slow, rising rhythm.
It was starting.
The letter they had never written, the prophecy they never dared speak aloud, the shift that came not in teeth and claws but in sweat an
