“Good,” Roak smiles, his eyes alight with a fire that matches my own. “Because I am, too.”

The thrum of the gathering reaches a crescendo, filling my senses as if it is the heartbeat of the night itself. All around me, the air hums with anticipation, punctuated by the occasional howl or cackle that seem to underscore the wildness of this world I am part of. The scent of apple cinnamon and wild cherry lingers, a tangible reminder of King Roak's proximity, his arm brushing ...