Kill This Love
The wound on his hand was old, but his grip was steady.
Just as the vow was about to be completed, a hoarse roar shattered the ritual.
“Stop! She’s mine!”
Andrew stormed into the square, wild-eyed, clutching a silver blade that gleamed in the firelight. Gasps spread through the crowd—silver was a forbidden weapon, deadly to werewolf blood.
“Evelyn,” he bellowed, his voice breaking with rage, “you belong to me! I am the Elder’s true heir!”
He lunged forward, blade raised.