Chapter 9

A bell with a deep, hollow toll is rung at midnight to signal the start of the new day. The members of the pack make their way into the holy circle one by one in the circular courtyard below. They don't silver silk robes for ceremonies; these robes are designed to be easily removed once the transformation has taken place.

In movies, people often create situations in which werewolves howl in anguish and tear their clothes off, which is something I've never understood why people do. We are aware of when the moon will be at its fullest. This does not come as a surprise to us. And we are aware of the appropriate attire.

Or undress. As Orionwalks into the circle, the air I'm breathing stops cold in my lungs. He halts in front of the stone dedicated to Lycaon and throws his robe to the ground.

I ogle him unashamedly, just as he did to me, from his broad shoulders all the way down to his chest sprinkled with dark hair that thins to a line on his shockingly carved abs. I do this in the same w