RYDER’S POVThe pantry of the Spire was a tomb for things that were meant to be enjoyed. It was filled with the scents of excess and expensive cheeses rotting in their rinds, vintage wines gathering dust, and the stale, sweet perfume of the man currently shaking in my grip.I had Jessica’s Stepfather pinned against a rack of century-old Bordeaux. My fingers were knotted so deeply in his silk cravat that I could feel the frantic, pathetic flutter of his pulse against my knuckles. It was a fast, rhythmic tapping, like a moth beating its wings against a glass jar."You always were a gambling man, fool," I purred. My voice was a low, sandpaper rasp, vibrating with a wolf that had been denied its mate for too long. "But you’ve played a losing hand. You bet on a King who’s already rotting, and now the house is calling in your debt."Look at him. This is the man who raised her? This spineless heap of silk and cowardice sold the only light in this mountain for a handful of gold. My wolf wants
Last Updated : 2026-02-23 Read more