Michael

Alpha Harold watches as I sink into an armchair across from the raging fire in the hearth. He holds me a glass of whiskey, his eyes holding mine for a second before he turns to settle on a stool beside his mate.

I find this entire situation–this man, this pack–alarming.

“How long have you been here, in these woods?” I ask.

“Many years. We raised our children here, who are now raising their children here,” he smiles wistfully, turning his gaze to his mate. He squeezes her hand, continuing, “Your parents… the king and queen never told you about us?”

My brows pinch together. “No. I know there’re small...