Midnight torchlight spills across the flagstones of the Blackwood grand hall, casting long, jagged shadows against the ancient tapestries. Selene Vance steps over the threshold, her chin held high as the heavy scent of pine and damp earth—the scent of her childhood—rushes to meet her. Beside her, Kasimir Voss is a mountain of cold, tailored wool and dangerous intent, his fingers resting possessively at the small of her back. The obsidian silk of her dress whispers against her legs, a dark promise in a room that once saw her shamed.
At the far end of the hall, Rourke Blackwood stands on the stone dais, his hands gripped white-knuckled on the throne’s armrests. Beside him, Mira Holloway twists a silver bracelet around her wrist, her eyes wide with a confusion that borders on terror. The silence is a physical weight, thick with the pheromones of two rival Alphas clashing in the stagnant air. Rourke’s gaze finds Selene’s, and for a heartbeat, the ghost of their broken bond shivers between them like a dying flame.
Kasimir’s grip tightens slightly, his thumb tracing a slow, rhythmic line against her spine that demands her focus remain on him. He doesn't look at Rourke; he surveys the room as if he already owns the deed to the stone beneath their boots. Through the heavy oak doors, a shadow detaches from the perimeter and begins moving directly toward Kasimir's unprotected flank.
