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150-alpha’s worst nightmare

Michael Gotham

Smoke curled in the air around us as I paused only feet away from my brother’s mountain frame.

The air smelled slightly of sandalwood and rose trimmings from the bonfire at the center of the palace, drifting through to us by the chilly night breeze.

Anthony’s almond-shaped eyes were dark with power and longing, and the sight of his need made something spiked lodge in my own throat.

An owl booted somewhere in the distant pine trees on the perimeter of the palace and the uneasiness in my gut seemed to squelch in response.

My voice took on a scratchy tone as I told Anthony all about Markov’s blackmail, watching his eyes flash with anger first, and then disdain before the expressionless mask settled back over his face.

Things between us had become rough again after our mating night with Elena, after that bitch whore of his ruined everything.

“It appears Klein Markov has gotten too big for his breeches,” Anthony murmured, his hazel-green eyes glazing over before they snapped
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