TIFFANY'S POV
I hate Cyrilla. I hate her more than I've ever hated anyone or anything in my life. She didn’t just ruin everything—I bled for what I had. She stole it all. She stole him. She took my Hunter.
I’ve watched him for decades. Long before Cyrilla ever existed, I knew he was mine. He’s been alone for centuries—no mate, no destiny pulling him elsewhere. Or if he did have one, she was long gone. Dead. Irrelevant. That only confirmed what I already knew deep in my bones: I was meant to be by his side.
Hunter isn't just a man. He’s a god among wolves—powerful, respected, impossibly beautiful. The Alpha of our pack. Wealthy, feared, and likely to become King of the Werewolves someday.
Any she-wolf with half a brain would kill to claim a man like that. And I would’ve slit every throa
