Hope

The scent of honey and cardamom fills the air before the first tray even leaves the oven. I pretend it’s enough to mask the tang of nerves that always coils in my stomach when I think about Camille and what I have to do to get close to him.

How can I fake interest in Camille without showing my hurt of disgust or longing that I have to be with Keith?

Show him friendship, my wolf says.

Friendship?

I think about it for a moment. Can it be that simple?

My mind goes back to the Waltz, to the movement where I saw the Camille I thought was my...