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They praised him for making the logical choice, saying only my half-sister Ella Cross deserved to stand beside the future Lycan King.
Meanwhile, I knelt before the fractured Moonsilver Stone, paralyzed by both physical and emotional agony. All my life, I had never seen even a trace of my wolf.
Three days later, Leyden sealed a truce with the vampires by locking me in an ebony coffin and shipping me off to the castle of the Vampire Prince, Valen Thorne.
Vampires, everyone said, absolutely despised werewolf blood.
As a powerless outcast without a wolf, they were certain I would be dead before dawn.
But when Valen—the notoriously ruthless Prince—pushed the lid off my coffin and saw my battered body, he did the exact opposite of what anyone expected.
Right in front of his entire court of vampire nobles, he dropped to one knee.
"My queen," he greeted. "We have waited a long time for you."
At that exact second, I could hear Leyden howling in agony from the Lycan Castle.
But it was too late.
I didn't want him anymore.
