The Mate He Rejected
Bronson’s manipulation was pushing her right to the edge, and she was trying to drag me down with her.
As I approached the doors, a large, warm hand settled firmly against the small of my back.
I didn't flinch. I knew the touch instantly. The rich scent of winter pine washed over me, cutting through the sweet perfumes of the pavilion.
Cullen stepped up right beside me. He wore a sharp, tailored black suit, his silver-gray eyes scanning the crowd with lethal precision. He didn't look at Dreda, who was staring at us from across the room with pure, unadulterated hatred.