Keith

The heavy oak door creaks open as Clinton and I enter the room, and Hope is the first to glance up from the hearth where she is nursing a cup of tea. Her eyes scan my face, and I can’t find it in myself to hide the weariness from my face.

Go to mate, my be— no, my hybrid urges me.

Part of my mind reels with that information. With what I am. With what he is.

My hybrid snorts. Always late. Don’t trust instincts yet.

I ignore him for now, walking around Ben and Tessa, sitting across from them. The seat closest to Hope.

Tessa and Ben straighten...