A raven-haired worshiper of the Titans--Hekate and Nyx--is determined to save her lover from an ancient curse, she must prove to him that life is worth living and that being a werewolf has its perks.
...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Dawn caressed me awake like a boulder would have hit Indiana Jones if he hadn't run fast enough in that temple. Apollo's chariot might as well have sucker-punched me, then stripped me down to hammer in a few more punches. So, I adjusted the curtains in the guest room before crashing into a deep sleep, dreaming of wolves and angry men fighting under neon lights. Then an hour later Ari had rolled onto her side and smoothed my nose down with a clean smack against it.
I cradled my nose and glared down at her oblivious sleeping face with a will strong enough to keep me from kicking her off the bed.
By eight in the morning, I was sitting at the edge of the bed watching the light thicken between the crack of the mustard-coloured weighing whether it was worth trying to get back to sleep. In the end, I was hungry enough, and grumpy enough, to start my hunt for Lycius and his butler Boris. With a secret hope that I might find out where the other wolves are kept and who they are.
Last night I was swept back into the mansion in quick succession. Calix had a way of flying noisily through corridors, and a tiresome skill of avoiding answering questions. He all but locked us in the guestroom with his sharp look, it didn't matter how polite I was, his look told me he had already made up his mind of what kind of person I was. It wasn't the first time I was judged unfairly, and it wouldn't be the last. If I thought Lycius' was hard to read, Calix was giving me emotional whiplash.
I kicked on the clothes from last night – my mild yet somehow provocative clubbing gear – and tried my best to clean my face at the mirror hanging by the door. The kohl around my eyes was smudged towards my hairline, and luckily, I had wiped off my black lipstick before bed or I would have woken up looking like I had just eaten the bleeding heart of a demon.
Honestly, I looked exactly how I felt. The daylight wasn't even on my skin, and I felt its burning weight oppress me. My throat felt as if there were claws raking down it and that I had been smoking for the past thirty years of my twenty-two years of existence.
As I peered disappointedly at my reflection at the mirror of a rustic dresser, I took in the Mavros' guest room, and it was the least interesting space in their house. I imagined it was one of the rooms Mrs Mavros was in charge of. Cream coloured walls, a modern double bed with a blue rustic detachable headboard, and canary yellow covers to match the curtains. The floorboards and the windows might have been the oldest features of the room because this bedroom looked like it was an Ikea display.
Oh Gods, what if Mrs Mavros was here?
And here I was looking like a crackhead that Lycius' had dragged off the streets...
Fabulous.
Before daring to leave the guest room I stuffed my phone in my pocket and took a deep breath as the brass handle cooled my skin. The hallway had grim wooden panelling with matching dark wood floorboards and where I walked my shoes clicked loudly, the sounds bouncing back into my already ringing head.
