The rogues’ eyes burned with feral hunger as they stared at my foster-dam, licking their lips like starving beasts.
Darian Frostveil sat beside the so-called Tidefang King, watching me with open provocation. The scar across his face glistened in the firelight—the mark I had carved into him years ago.
“Kael Nightthorne,” Darian sneered, “rules are simple. Every time you lose a round, we strip one piece of clothing from your foster-dam.”
He leaned closer, voice dripping with cruelty.
“Unless you want to beg?”
“Can we begin?” I interrupted coldly.
Ignoring him was the only way not to give him what he wanted.
Darian wasn’t here just to win. He wanted to break me, inch by inch—until fear replaced reason.
The dealer stepped forward and cast the first bones. Around us, every wolf placed their wagers—all on Darian and the Tidefang King.
Selene swirled her blood-wine, her scent thick with confidence.
When the bones were dealt, I lifted my freed hand and turned over my visible card—the Red Moon Seven.
Across from me, the Tidefang King revealed a Black Claw King, his expression filled with disdain.
“Careful, Kael Nightthorne,” he said mockingly.
The crowd laughed and applauded.