I built my place in this pack on control and scars no one questions, but Lucas Moreau's predatory stride across the moonlit hall has me questioning everything. When our fingers met over the carved bone token, the contact lingered, and the jagged scar on my collarbone felt his claim before he even touched it.
Losing the pack means losing the only belonging I have ever known. Still, the forbidden pull to let this vampire knot me, to feel that thick swell lock us in primal possession where no one can separate us, drowns out every warning. Everett lingers at the edge, yet I cannot step back.
How much of my defiance will I surrender when the vault door seals us inside?
