THE SUBSTITUTE MATE FOR THE ALPHA KING
A lone figure sat by the fire, their back to me, hunched under a hooded cloak.
Taking a deep breath, praying to any moon goddess that might be listening, I stepped into the circle of firelight.
“Please,” I called out, my voice hoarse. “We mean no harm. We’re lost. My daughter… she’s cold.”
The figure by the fire went still. Then, slowly, they turned around.
And lowered their hood.
It was the elderly caretaker from the Moonrise outpost.
Her kind, wrinkled face was illuminated by the firelight, but her eyes held none of the gentle pity I remembered. They were sharp, calculating, and held a glint of dark satisfaction.
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