“Nevaeh, come out.” The words slip from my mouth with a resonance I don’t intend. It’s an alpha command. My face heats. I haven’t unintentionally issued a command in years.

A scuffle ensues in the doorway. A sleepy yowl. The dangling paw is jerked inside. Nevaeh is thrust out by arms jingling to the elbows with gold bracelets.

Nevaeh trips down the single step to the boards and wobbles a moment before finding her balance.

“Don’t want no trouble, Alpha Heir,” Drona says and slams the door.

Nevaeh stares at me. Her eyes are burnished brown, sparkling in the light spilling from the trailer window. The air is sucked from...