No matter the years spent apart or the order from the Alpha of her werewolf pack forbidding them to be together, Damon Frost—the Draco who had Sasha’s heart clutched in his grasp—was finally coming for her. Seven agonizing years later. The dark outline of Damon’s wings could barely be seen beating over the tree line to the west, but she could feel him closing in. Electricity sparked in the air like a Feralon lightning storm, starting a fire in her heart. As Sasha Moore leaned over the balcony of stone-faced Were Mountain, peering through black-and-blue cloud cover, anxiety peaked in her core, freezing the blood in her veins. How much had Damon changed? Sasha wondered. Would she still know how to make him smile? How to rile him up and turn him on? Hell, how much had she changed? Her hair was darker, almost midnight-black, and had grown down to her waist since she’d seen him.
