White Wolf Rising
I’ve spent years swallowing my whimpers, smiling through the bruises, pretending the hands on my body don’t leave scars. I’m Leena—fifteen when my parents died, sixteen when they called me 'property,' nineteen when I stopped counting how many times I was passed around. My wolf is small, white, fragile—but she’s still mine. And tonight, as the king arrives unannounced, I feel something shift beneath my skin. Not heat. Not fear. Something fiercer. Because the man in the doorway isn’t just royalty. He’s staring at me like I’m already his. And for the first time, I wonder if rescue doesn’t come with wings… but with fangs.
