Alpha’s Little Plaything
He wanted to leap, to tear Marla off my arm, to claim the woman with fire-red hair and pain in her eyes.
Loriah. Elara Dane. Whatever she called herself now.
The city lights spread beneath us, glittering like broken glass. Somewhere down there, she was. Close enough to touch, yet gone again.
Nicole’s voice came through the phone, steady and precise. “Alpha, I’ve tracked her. Elara Dane is scheduled for a concert in New York that will last three nights. I’ve also secured you a private appointment through her label, though it will take some maneuvering.”