Every eligible female *must* attend the ball by decree of the king.
On account of my tendency to suddenly turn from a woman into a wolf, I’d really prefer if I wasn’t being forced into attending.
Anger burns in my throat, making me growl.
Stepmother covers my hand with hers, gently squeezing my fingers.
That’s my stepmother. Grace above all; even under fire… or the threat of a noose. She’s a better woman than I.
What? You thought the rumors were true? That she’s my *wicked* stepmother, who’s kept me as her indentured servant under the stairs?
Oh my friend, you don’t know the half of this story.
To tell it, I’d best begin at the beginning.
**Note: This is a 28K word Short Story standalone romance for readers 18 and up with Explicit language and situations.