The Wrong Brother's Bite
He wasn't as broad as Bramwell, perhaps a few inches shorter, but his jacket strained over a lean, deadly frame built for war.
“A full house,” Alistair said smoothly, taking his seat behind the massive desk. “Mrs. Ashby, how are the western borders? How is business treating you?” His voice carried a deep, cultured cadence that felt far more dangerous than Bramwell's raw gravel.
“Wonderful, Alpha Fenmore. Just wonderful. Thank you for contacting my network to assist these she-wolves. We are simply waiting for the resilient Eira Montrose to make her decision.”
“Ah, Bramwell’s little mate. The toothbrush killer,” Alistair winked at me, a sharp, predatory glint in his eyes. “I must compliment yo