Todos los capítulos de Fate Chose the Prince, I Chose the Alpha: Capítulo 11 - Capítulo 17

The front door key felt heavier than any piece of brass had a right to feel.It was an ordinary deadbolt key on a plain wire ring, not a stamped pass card with a pack crest. When I turned it in the lock of the second-floor apartment, the bolt slid home with a solid, dry click. No armed guard checked my paperwork at the threshold. No electronic terminal beeped to log my heartbeat.The apartment smelled like lemon soap and fresh drywall. It was small—one square living area, a kitchenette with an electric stove, and a bedroom that overlooked the street lamp on the corner. Two streets to the north, the brick chimney of the Black Ridge medical relay wing rose above the tree line. If I stood by the kitchen window, I could see the glow of the ground-floor clinic lights through the autumn maple branches.I walked to the small pine dining table and set my belongings down in the center.The heavy parchment bearing Eric's signet lay on the left, its crimson wax seal pressed deep and clean into t

At two in the morning, the basement operations room was as cold as a meat locker.The only warmth came from the vacuum tubes in the long-range radio racks and the two ceramic mugs of chicory coffee Daniel had set beside the track map. On the northern monitor, the green seismic line for Gray Hollow was drawing a flat, steady horizon. It looked like an electrocardiogram for a sleeping mountain."Freight 414 just cleared the south junction," Daniel said, keeping his voice low enough that it barely carried past the plotting table. "Four minutes behind schedule. That means the engineer had to slow down for the curve at Milepost 81.""He slowed down because the track ballast was loose," I said, tapping the margin of the maintenance log with my pen. "Three tons of crushed granite dumped on the outer rail yesterday afternoon. The regional dispatcher marked it as routine bed settling, but the delivery slip came from a private quarry in Crown territory."Daniel leaned closer, the glow from the

The cold mountain gravel moved under my work boots as I took my stance. Dusk had taken the last copper light from the peaks above. The wide training yard was quiet and smelled of frozen pine needles. Eric stood three paces away in his dark wool sweater. His arms rested easily at his sides as his amber eyes watched my knees. He told me that a royal guard never starts with a loud roar or sharp teeth. A real fighter shifts his weight to his back heel first. Then he angles his lead shoulder forward by three inches. He closes the gap before his target even knows a fight has begun.Eric showed me the basic move at half speed. He glided over the dark stones without making the gravel crunch. When his chest reached my shoulder line, my first instinct was to push back. I wanted to shove against his collarbone with both open hands. Raymond had spent ten years teaching me that foolish habit. Pushing two hundred pounds of solid muscle only gives a big fighter an anchor to grab. Eric did not strik