Alpha, Not Luna
My wolf cries out again inside my head, our chest now fulling with an excruciating burning sensation.
My tapetum lucidum eyes see them clearly, in the darkened room.
The Alpha of Mount White Stone Pack is kissing someone on his bed, naked, but the person does not see me, for she’s on her back, under him, the top of her head in my direction and my stomach drops to the floor.
The woman’s legs hike up and she trusts her waist upwards. “Oh, Soren - hmm, now,” the woman says. Even in her throaty gasping, I know her voice.
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