Nyxara Rising
Until now.
“Relax,” he said, raising his hands in an empty gesture of peace. “If I wanted you dead, you’d be a memory already.”
Nyxara risked a glance, violet eyes glacial. “You always did have a talent for comfort.”
He just chuckled, tossing a data drive onto the marble counter. It spun once, catching the light. “I brought a present.”
Inside her, the wolf—the ancient, predatory thing that never slept—uncoiled, hackles raised. Its warning was sharp, wordless: Be wary.