As the heavy door of the SUV opened, the first thing that hit Amara wasn't the cold, it was the scent. It was a thick, intoxicating cocktail of pine needles, wet earth, roasting meat, and a heavy, underlying musk that set every primitive instinct in her body on high alert.
The Vale was a natural amphitheater hidden deep within the northern ridges, accessible only by a single, heavily guarded mountain pass. Tonight, it had been transformed. Industrial-sized fire pits roared along the perimeter, sending plumes of orange sparks spiraling into the black velvet sky. The lighting was low and flickering, provided by thousands of torches that cast long, dancing shadows against the jagged rock walls.
"Stay on my arm," Darien's voice rumbled close to her ear. It wasn't an order; it was a grounding wire. He stepped out first, offering his hand to her with a courtly grace that felt almost absurd given the predatory energy radiating from him.
