His Silent Omega's Hidden White Wolf Bloodline

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I swirled the amber liquid in my crystal glass, my Lycan senses assaulted by

sickening, obsessive hunger. She thought she could play games. She thought my political marriage to that

ass to my lips

aneous. Liquid fire tore

hijacked my nervous system. My Lycan healing, usually instantaneous, slammed into a brick wall of agon

uckled. Through the sensory static and the sudden, terrifying loss of motor control, I cau

it would be a political disaster. I stumbled backward, the massive champagne tower

ever

rmers. The grand crystal chandeliers above us shattered into darkness. Plunged into a sudden, pitch-b

fitting uniform, a low-pulled cap, and a black face mask hauled me upright. I flared my nostrils, desperate to identify

dered, low and del

ors, swallowed by the shadows of the service area. My limbs were lead. Rage thras

on the keypad. My blurred mind barely registered the numbers, but a chi

d me across the black marble floor of my bathroom and sh

d blocks of ice s

ed in my veins, but the extreme cold fought back the neurotoxin, giving me a fracti

d for the mask, desperate to rip it off and expose

spond! Whe

nd-Link, a psychic sledgehammer that shattered

g away in my iron grip. For a fraction of a second, the harsh bathroom light illuminated the pale skin of her

igure bolted through the glass doors, disappea

m. I looked down at my hand. Resting in my palm was a single, hand-forged obsidian cufflink, tor