The morning after the full moon gathering, I woke to find Damien already gone from our bed.
I touched the mark on my neck—still tender, still warm—and remembered last night. The transformation. The terror of watching him lose control. And that strange, inexplicable power that had flowed through me to calm him.
Moon's Solace, the elders had called it.
I'd barely understood what was happening at the time. But from the way the entire pack had stared at me, from the hushed, urgent conversations among the elders, I knew it was significant.
More than significant. Dangerous.
I found Damien in his study, staring out the window. The tension in his shoulders was visible even from across the room.
"You're up early," I said softly.
He turned, and his expression softened immediately. "Claire. How are you feeling?"
"Fine. A little tired." I moved closer. "Are you okay? Last night, when you lost control—"
