The moon had climbed high above the Blood Moon territory, bathing the pack house in a silver glow — but inside its stone heart, two souls writhed under the chains of their own torment.
Livia's chamber was sealed by layers of steel and spellwork, tucked deep in the eastern wing where no one could scent her too easily. But even there, the air was thick with the sweetness of her pheromones — a maddening, intoxicating fragrance that seeped through the cracks of the walls, tempting any wolf who came too close.
She was no longer on the floor. They had chained her to the iron frame of a heavy bed — silver-coated shackles bound her wrists above her head, another set locked around her ankles, and a thick enchanted restraint coiled around her waist to stop her from thrashing too violently. It wasn't cruel.
It was protection — from herself, from anyone who might be lured by the scent, and from the hunger that was rapidly consuming her sanity.
