Mark's POV
The pack house had gone unnaturally quiet after midnight.
I hadn't moved from the high-backed chair in the corner of our—no, my chamber since after walking around the entire castle. The fire had burned down to glowing coals, casting long, restless shadows across the walls. My knuckles were still raw from the mirror, the wall, the fight, and although the injuries were almost healed, I still felt the pain.
I expected her to stay gone. After everything, the double mark, the council summons, the way she'd stood in the foyer in that blood-red gown like she already ruled the place, I thought she'd claim new quarters, surround herself with loyal maids, and leave me to stew in the wreckage of my own room.
I was wrong. The door opened without a knock. I didn't move. Didn't even lift my head at first.
Then her scent hit me, the intoxicating spike of her arousal. My wolf lunged against my ribs so hard I felt the chair creak.
