ZAIN
She smelled like the wind before a storm. Sharp, electric. A scent I'd known long before she ever stepped into my domain.
Violet Hawthorne.
She stood before me, her chin lifted in defiance, her silver eyes brimming with a fire that made my wolf lurch forward—snarling, restless. Mine.
The word burned through me like a curse.
It had always been a curse.
I had watched her for years, lurking in the shadows like some wretched ghost. Not because I wanted to, but because I ha* to. Because the bond—this damn, twisted thing—wouldn't let me forget her. Wouldn't let me rest.
A human.
A weak, fragile, breakable human.
A descendant of killers.
Her family had slaughtered my kind for centuries, wearing our deaths like a badge of honor. And yet, the fates, in all their cruelty, had bound me to her.
I should have torn her apart the second she entered my land.
I still might.