The Alpha’s Rejected Human Luna
Ronan sat beside me, one arm along the back, his fingers absently tracing shapes between my shoulder blades.
“I’m Fun Aunt,” Naomi said. “It’s in the job description.”
Rowan kicked, toes escaping their grip, face scrunching in determined concentration as they tried again. Their little tongue peeked out, brows furrowing in a way that made Ronan groan quietly.
“That’s your face,” he muttered.
“It is not,” I said.
He glanced at me.
I relented. “Okay, maybe a little.”
Bella sat cross‑legged nearby, a book open but mostly ignored in her lap.
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