NOLA

“Shit.” Hector breathed, before marching to a stop as a cloud of ice fogged up his face and we paused in the castle foyer, the stone buildings around us looming like boogeymen in the dark.

I fisted my free hand in the feathery ends of my see-through lilac ball gown, tugging the other hand that was warm in the Lycan beast’s deadlock grip.

“What?” I whispered, a shiver running up my spine as I looked to see what the man had stopped to stare at.

The mountain council elders. You could tell by the chunky gold rings that laced each of their stubbly fingers as one of the stout-looking...