Blood of the Pack
Her whisper was intimate, a promise that felt like a chain, and Alice’s scar pulsed—Mira was a cult hybrid, steering her toward Samuel’s ritual.
A sharp laugh pierced the air. Rhea lounged on the bleachers, her dark braid coiled like a snake, her silver ring glinting with the crescent moon symbol. “Falling for it, Ashford?” she taunted, voice cold and cutting. “Samuel’s gonna love watching you burn.” Her eyes flicked to Mira, a smirk passing between them, but Rhea’s hunger was sharper, like she was carving her own role in the cult’s game. “You’re already theirs,” she added, leaning closer, her presence a jagged edge in Alice’s chest.
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