"Fate rarely asks for permission. It simply laughs and writes the story anyway."
Sir Gavriel Thorne's POV
The moonlight spilling over the castle's training grounds looked far too romantic for the conversation I was about to have. My wolf, usually content with the discipline of steel and order, was restless. Uneasy, and every time I closed my eyes, I felt the same pull not toward battle or blood, but toward him. The first time I saw him was at the gates of the Northern Kingdom, and even now in the Eastern chamber offices.
Riven Ashlock, a damn Panther, and I pinched the bridge of my nose and muttered, "Of all the cursed, star-crossed, impossible matches in the world… why him?"
My wolf answered with a low, insistent rumble, as though daring me to question the bond. That was when I heard boots crunching across the gravel. My brother's stride, Captain Thorne Rell, Commander of the Royal Guard, and the only man alive who could irritate me and ground me in the same breath.
