Pity Castian was a man—a warrior sculpted for battle and stealth, never once crossing a kitchen’s threshold, his hands more accustomed to steel than spices.
Had a Moonlit Pack woman stood in that dimly lit room, she’d have instantly recognized the herb Mira forced into Layla’s mouth: Starvelvet Grass, its delicate fronds sprouting in the shadowed crevices of the pack’s mist-clad valleys. Moonlit women wove it into their dishes, its ethereal essence coaxing richer flavors and heady aromas from even the simplest fare.
Mira had stumbled upon it by chance, laboring to win her Starlight Clan kin with her meticulous culinary craft. Always tasting new spices raw before blending them into her recipes, she’d sampled Starvelvet Grass one day, and her wolf’s scent had surged through the clan’s spra
