Three Years Later
The Blackwood Manor was alive with the chaotic, thundering, explosive energy of the Winter Solstice celebration.
I stood near the edge of the massive, beautifully decorated ballroom, holding a crystal glass of sparkling water. I was nineteen years old now. The fragile, terrified girl who had wept in the snow was entirely gone. In her place stood the Head Medical Healer of the Blackwood Pack—a woman forged in cold, hard discipline, medical textbooks, and a profound, unshakable human confidence.
I was wearing a stunning, floor-length crimson gown that hugged my curves perfectly, contrasting sharply with my pale skin and my wild, dark curls. But hidden entirely beneath the heavy silk slit of my skirt, strapped securely to my thigh, was a razor-sharp silver dagger. I
