Lamia Hotel Novels & Stories

We slide into the plush leather interior, the heavy oak doors slamming shut and instantly cutting off the cacophony of the celebration outside. Lamia drops her head back against the seat, letting out a long, exhausted sigh as she gathers the massive folds of her silver-embroidered gown. “Oh, Goddess. My ribs feel like they have been compressed in an iron vise for three days.” “You were magnificent,” I say, reaching over to take her hand and rubbing my thumb over her soft knuckles. “The worst of it is over. You survived the ceremony and the press.” She turns her head on the leather headrest, her gaze locking onto mine with a sharp, calculating intensity. “You know every single wolf at the eve