If there is one rule about surviving in a wolf pack, it’s that privacy is a myth.
It's more of a concept invented by humans who don't have super-powered sniffer dogs breathing down their necks twenty-four-seven.
Every single breath I drew in the Bloodmoon compound smelled like thr heat of Diego’s territory. His guards were everywhere. They weren't mean—in fact, half of them looked at me like I was some kind of warrior saint after I’d impaled Silas’s stupid peace treaty to an altar—but they were attentive. Too attentive. I couldn't even sneeze without three giant shape-shifting security guards asking if I needed an extra wool blanket or a silver-tipped crossbow.
Which was why getting a letter smuggled into my private bathroom was nothing short of a miracle.
I was sitting on the edge of
