OneSo this was how a lamb felt at the slaughter.
Nothing in Susanna Duchamps’s isolated world prepared her for the barrage of sensations within the dark walls of the Shifter club. Sound battered her ears. Music pounded in a visceral pulse. Brutish figures hunched over tables, their voices loud and rough, their laughter carnal. Even the scent burning her nostrils was frighteningly feral, urging her to step back before she was noticed. Before she became a tender meal.
The moment she’d crossed the threshold of Cheveux du Chien
, the safe separation between their species was gone and she...