The moon was full and impossibly bright, glowing so fiercely above the sacred stone circle that it cast no shadows—only silver.
The clearing had been sealed by runes, silent guards posted at the perimeter. Only the wind stirred, whispering secrets through the leaves. The ancient stones glowed faintly, their glyphs alive with celestial heat.
Athena stood barefoot at the center of the circle.
Her robe was sheer silver, sleeveless, her long braid brushed with moon oil and wolf ash. At her feet, a bowl of sacred herbs smoked, its scent clinging to her skin.
Tonight, she was not queen.
Not warrior.
Not goddess.
She was the vessel.
And the Moon would speak.
Lucas stood to her left, Cassius to her right. Both shirtless, kneeling, foreheads lowered in reverence. Their wolves paced just beneath their skin, restless, their energy rolling off them in waves of heat and claim.
Athena's pulse echoed in her ears.
The priestess, old and silent, handed her the blade.
