Ten Days Before Our Contract Expires

It was the fifth year of my mating to Silas Blackwood. He walked into the pack house, bold as brass, with a she-wolf he'd bought out of a shady dive bar called The Velvet Den.

She was his eighth mistress. When our eyes met, she whimpered and buried her face in Silas's chest.

"Silas, is this the Lunar Queen you always tell me about?" she asked, her voice dripping with fake innocence.

Silas wrapped his arm around her slender waist, his voice a low growl of comfort. "Don't mind her."

He brushed