WICKED PROVIDENCE
With a burst of strength fueled by pure rage, Avery wrenched her hand free and delivered a resounding slap across his face.
The sound echoed through the silent stone hall.
Hudson recoiled, the red mark blossoming on his pale skin. His expression shifted from shock to a strange, twisted delight.
He didn't growl. Instead, a faint, tragic smile touched his lips.
Seeing the raw sorrow and the crystalline anger in Avery’s eyes, Hudson felt a sharp pang of remorse that cut deeper than any silver. He was a fool. How had he been so blind? The scent—the primal, underlying scent of the pup—it was a mirror of his own.
Bab Populer