THE BILLIONAIRE ALPHA’S SECRET HEIRS
“Enough.”
But the door burst open before he could storm out, the stench of pine sap and infection rolling in. A man stumbled through—Evan, from the eastern patrol. His left arm hung grotesquely, the shoulder dislocated, and a gash across his cheekbone wept sluggish black blood. Poison. Wolfsbane.
“Bloodfang… ambushed the river pass,” Evan rasped, collapsing against the wall. His good hand fumbled with his cargo pocket, producing a phone with a shattered screen. “They knew… knew where we’d be. Laughed about… about their little songbird.”