Claimed by the cruel lycan king
Marisol found me before Kade did, dressed in something clearly designed to outshine whatever I was wearing, which — given the crimson gown Kade's staff had chosen for me again — wasn't much of a contest to begin with.
"You look nervous," she said, delighted by the observation.
"I look focused. There's a difference."
"Is there?" She glanced toward the head of the hall, where Kade stood deep in conversation with two men I didn't recognize, both wearing the kind of formal severity that suggested visiting royalty. "Those are the Kessler brothers. They run the northern territory. They've been placing bets, apparently, on how long you'll last before you either run or get replaced."
"How flattering