SOLD TO THE WEREWOLF KING
His stormy eyes were wide, locked on our hands, and for a single, terrifying second, they flashed with a brilliant, feral gold.
The color of a wolf’s eyes.
He snatched his hand back as if my mere proximity had burned him. The air crackled with a tension so thick I could barely breathe. The scent of him—bergamot, cedar, and something wild, something purely animal—invaded my senses.
"What was that?" I whispered, my heart hammering against my ribs.
"Nothing," he bit out, the word a low growl that vibrated in my bones. The gold in his eyes was gone, replaced by a glacial cold that was somehow more frightening. "A trick of the light. Sign the contract."
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