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If he sensed any anti-shifter sentiment, he pulled away and shut down.

It never was a conscious decision.

It was instinct. Protection. A habit so ingrained it appeared like a reflex.

He’d see the hurt in their eyes when he wouldn’t discuss the future, when he wouldn’t say how he felt.

On the other hand, brotherhood gave him what he didn’t realize he craved. Safety.

But it was not enough.

He wanted more. Needed more.

He yearned for a woman who could stand at his side.

He craved to be seen for who he truly was, enhanced, yes, but loyal asfokk.

Guarded, but not incapable of love, just out of practice.

Savvine was a challenge, no doubt. A beautiful, blade-edged riddle that his lycan soul was insisting was his fated mate.

She wasn’t the kind of woman to roll over at the hint of a claim; she was hella feisty, but his spectral wolf soul was also relentless.

Savvine Bianchi was coming close to the kind of woman he craved.

So he remained, waiting, wanting, and wondering what it would be like if the forbidden didn’t matter. If the bloodlines, the past, the rules, all of it, burned.

Imagining what it would feel like to one day call her his.

Mierda.

7

A Big, Bad Wolf

SAVVINE

TheVeleno di Sognifloated off the bow of theVenantia Eterna.

Eugene Bianchi’s infamous luxury yacht was a gleaming, sin-soaked marvel of opulence.

The drake ship inspired design came complete with the carved head of a dragon mounted on its stem.

Its hull, crafted from polished obsidian alloy, featured trims of gold-laced bracings that caught and refracted starlight like a gaudy mirror ball.

The outer decks glittered with neon rails, while soundproofed music thudded from its underbelly in a slow, bass-heavy rhythm that never quite stopped.

Cruising along the port side of theEterna, the ship purred with quiet arrogance.

As if it belonged to a better class of vessel, untouchable, lavish, and unbothered by the grit of survival that plagued the rest of the convoy.

The moment the pressure lock hissed open and Savvine stepped onto the marble-veined deck floor, her nose wrinkled.

She caught the scent of spiced cigars, spilled cocktails, and the powdery bloom ofkokomisting through the recycled air.

She blinked against it, coughed, and wished for a mask filter.

Can’t believe this glorified hovel belongs to the man I was once promised to.