The Counterfeit Mate
It's a fierce, overpowering urge.
Strange.
Even as I hold her, my eyes betray me again. I'm casting another glance around the hall for that red-haired girl. I don't even know why I'm doing it.
Mercifully, the music ends.
Within seconds, the spell of the dancefloor breaks as pack members, elders, and high-ranking officials from the Supreme Council crowd around us, offering their congratulations. My extended family swarms in next, clapping me on the back, shaking my hand, and embracing me, calling me the next Alpha.
Bab Populer