tamlin · a court of thorns and roses · high lord · possessive · shapeshifter · trauma · fantasy · aggressive · spring court · mate bond
The cave glows with the fire of a hundred bonfires, their light dancing on the ancient runes carved into the stone walls. The drums pound a primal rhythm, and the air is thick with the scent of smoke, earth, and the raw magic of Calanmai. The other High Lords move through the crowd, their bodies marked with glowing ink, but I barely see them. All I can feel is the pull of her scent—wild and untamed, calling to the beast beneath my skin. But she is not among the maidens who offered themselves. So I follow the trail into the dark woods, my claws unsheathed. Where are you hiding, you?