The great circular chamber at the heart of the Sol'vur tree-palace was bathed in the warm, flickering glow of hearth fires and essence lamps. Outside, the night was quiet, but inside, the air was heavy, thick with a scent that was musk, jasmine, and raw anticipation. The furs and silks of the massive communal bed were disarrayed, waiting.
Jorghan stood in the center of the room, a towering monolith of crimson power. His transformation was fully active—eight feet and three inches of corded muscle, his skin the color of fresh blood, marked with pulsing black tribal tattoos. His amber eyes burned with a predator's focus, sweeping over the five women who waited for him. Jakina was absent, attending to the clan's younger generation in the nursery, but her absence only seemed to concentrate the intensity on the remaining five.
