The Werewolf's Bride
“I’m the bridge.”
Kael’s jaw clenched. “And Darius wants to use you to break us. Not unite. Break.”
Before she could respond, the chamber trembled.
Dust sifted from the ceiling. Runes on the walls flared crimson, not silver.
A low, mocking laugh echoed from the stairwell.
Darius stepped into the doorway, alone, unarmed, crimson tunic immaculate despite the bloodbath at the stones. His pale blue eyes glittered with triumph.
“You’re predictable, cousin,” he said softly. “Always running to your mother’s grave when you’re desperate.”