The Poisoned Treaty

Morning arrived over the Pacific coast wrapped in a shroud of gray mist and heavy ocean spray. Maya woke slowly, cocooned in the deep, comforting warmth of Lucian’s bed. The charcoal furs smelled of cedarwood, mountain pine, and the lingering, intoxicating heat of their passionate night. The emerald mating mark on her collarbone pulsed with a soft, soothing hum—a direct telepathic conduit to Lucian’s soul that filled her with a…