Gwen stood by the window, the silk of her robe whispering against her skin as the frigid mountain air fought the warmth of the hearth. The encounter with Kaelen in her chambers—the revelation of the silver and obsidian collar—still vibrated in her marrow. It was a tether, he had said. A binding of souls.
But tonight, before the collar could be fastened, there was the matter of the ring.
"A Luna of the North does not wear iron or lead," Kaelen had stated as he led her toward the armored SUV the following morning. "You will wear the starlight of the peaks."
They traveled to The Argent Vault, the most exclusive jeweler in the Neutral Zone—a place where the wealthiest Alphas commissioned pieces that were as much weaponry as they were finery. The shop was a sanctuary of glass and muted light, smelling of ozone and polishing wax.
