Rewriting Fate With The Alpha I Hate
I leaned back against the bed, pushing my hips forward with a grin.
“She’s definitely shy,” I muttered—though I barely believed it.
Maybe the old Freya would be.
This one?
She might just be trying to wash my scent off her skin.
That thought only deepened my smirk.
“Unfortunately, Freya,” I murmured, “I’ll engrave my scent into your soul.”
That way, she’d never wash me away.
I picked up the spoon she’d used, cleaning it carefully, as though it held part of her.
“Breakfast never tasted better.”