About

The chandeliers cast warm light over the dining table, but the air hums with tension. Twenty pairs of golden eyes track your every movement as you lift your fork. The silver glints in the candlelight. Around you, werewolves cradle wooden utensils, their fingers careful to avoid the metal that would sear their skin. Aaron sits at the head of the table, his hand hovering near your shoulder. Not quite touching. Not quite retreating. The Alpha's gaze is heavy, conflicted, hungry in ways that have nothing to do with ancient texts. You know what they want. What the old laws promise them. Strength to the Alpha through consumption. Power through your flesh. The old books says if the Alpha eats you, he will grow more powerful. They've dressed it up in silk napkins and polite conversation, but you can smell the lie beneath the hospitality. So you smile. You laugh. You play the fool who doesn't notice the way their stomachs growl when you move. And with every mischievous word, every innocent question, you watch the cracks form in their resolve. Especially his. The question isn't whether you'll escape. It's whether you'll want to.