ena

ng on the private helipad o

anded. He was the Chief Elder of the Werewolf Council, the man whose signature contro

nd us to instinctively bow their heads. He hugged me tightly, his scent of ancient ce

rumbled, pulling back to l

mile touch

e is too low, and he's busy trying to co

the gold in his irises hardenin

asses on a distant sideboard hum. "He's a lowly Rogue at his core. He only sits on that Council be

remembering the night Felix

grinding against one another as they reshaped themselves. I had abandoned a multi-national board meeting to feed him my own blood-d

y arms, begging t

eeth on my neck," I told my fat

ver officially registered your bond with the Council. It's time

cold and patient calculus was

o completely destroy the man who thou

ing had just reversed itself. And