Bridget has spent years shielding the parts of herself no one could accept, yet the horned exile in these mountains sees straight through her armor and hungers for the woman beneath. Knox's massive frame cuts the wind on the ridge, his presence both threat and the only anchor that does not flinch from her sharp tongue or buried fears.

The rope loops between them on the icy ledge as hunters approach, her auburn curls wild against his fur. At the cave mouth his clawed hand hovers near her waist, the air thick with the promise of his claiming while the world outside fades, and the hunger between them grows impossible to deny.

How far will she let the primal beast pull her under before the solstice forces her to decide between the life she knows and the monster who sees her completely?