Luna was just as drawn to the moon as every werewolf in the territory. The silver orb hung in the sky, stubbornly refusing to fade, and its pull hummed in her blood. She stood at the entrance to the castle.
When Damien's car revved hard into the compound, tires biting the cobblestones, Luna's chest tightened. She rushed forward instinctively, barefoot against the cold stone, her pulse keeping pace with the pounding of the engine. For a second, she glimpsed him through the windshield—jaw clenched, eyes glowing faintly red, the king in him already at war with the man.
"Get in!" Damien barked. The sound jolted her like a whip. She didn't hesitate. Flinging the passenger door open, she slipped inside, her hair catching briefly in the wind.
"What's going on? Is this about the moon?" she demanded. She tried to sound calm.
