The Lycan Monarch’s Voluptuous Mate
They looked at us like we were cargo.
"Line up," the yellow-eyed envoy barked.
We stood in a messy row. Lydia, the freckled girl, the other brunette, and me. I stood at the end. Next to them, I looked like a giant. My gray wool sweater was dirty at the elbows, my jeans were stiff with dried road mud, and my hair was a wild nest of curls.
The massive double doors of the obsidian hall groaned open.
A group of men stepped out. They didn't wear coats; they wore heavy leather vests and dark trousers, their bare arms thick with muscle and old battle scars. These weren't regular wolves. Their shoulders were broader, their bones thicker. Lycans.