"Isn't she demanding too much?" Luna could hear Bastiel's low, irritated grumble, his voice dripping with barely concealed frustration. The words slithered through the air like a serpent, meant to sting—but Luna refused to let them.
She didn't pay him any mind. Not when all five of the ruling males were practically thrumming with displeasure, their postures rigid, their eyes sharp with the unspoken urge to interrupt. She could feel their impatience, their irritation at her defiance.
And, as always, Tyrnhael took the lead.
Of course he did.
"Why?" Tyrnhael's voice was smooth, practiced—the tone of a leader who knew how to mask his annoyance under a veneer of reason. "It's a celebration, Luna. You, along with the other Alphas, should celebrate. Just bring Ravhiel along if you must."
Luna's fingers tightened around the edge of the wooden table, her gaze dropping to her half-eaten plate of food. The rich aroma of roasted meat, usually so enticing, now did nothing for her.
