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The great hall of Bloodmoon Keep was alive with music and laughter, the air thick with the scent of spiced wine and burning cedar. The pack had gathered for the first celebration since the battle with the Shadows, and the energy was electric wild and untamed, just like the wolves who filled the room. I stood near the hearth, my fingers wrapped around a goblet of honeyed mead, watching as the firelight danced across the faces of the alphas who had become my whole world.
Riven stood apart from the crowd, as always, his pale eyes scanning the room with quiet intensity. He wore black tonight, the fabric hugging the lean muscles of his frame, his silver hair tied back to expose the sharp lines of his jaw. He looked every inch the ruthless strategist, the ice-cold alpha who had once stitched me back together with hands that never shook.
But I knew better now.
