Cursed To Love You
I straightened my shoulders and declared, “Cassian Devereux. Heir of the Umbrafang Pack.”
The man studied me in silence, his eyes sweeping from my boots to the curly mess on my head, assessing, measuring, dissecting. I held his gaze, refusing to shrink under the weight of it. Slowly, deliberately, he pushed his chair back and rose to his full height.
The power rolling off him was unmistakable. Ancient. Commanding.
Finally, he extended a hand, his expression unreadable.
“I am Fenrik Stormborn,” he said, voice deep and resonant, carrying the weight of countless winters. “King of the Northern Wolves, bearer of the Frostfang Crown, and Warden of the Silver Peaks.”
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