The Alpha’s Rejected Human Luna
“Because I already moved some of your books.”
I blinked. “You what?”
He nodded toward a small shelf near the far wall.
Sure enough, a few familiar spines peeked out—my gardening manuals, a battered fantasy series I’d re‑read a dozen times, one of the medical texts I used to help Morwen cross‑reference human treatments.
“You noticed what I read,” I said stupidly.
“I always notice,” he said.
I stood, crossing the space between us, and took his hands.
“Let’s make it official, then,” I said.
Bab Populer