The Lycan God
tentatively, she draws her lower lip into her mouth and sucks it thoughtfully.
Should I tell him? Surely he would not be angered by the correction.
As if in reply to her question, her gaze lowers to the right side of the table where her right hand lies, palm down and slightly curled into a loose fist
But the thought of being corrected by a scant could incense anyone in the pack hierarchy, omegas included. Her gaze lowers in finality to the paper and, warily, she crosses over the error before writing over it.
“Their appetite is known to be that of wolves—” the priest halts at the centre of the room, the skin of his sunken cheeks drawing taut in . Eleven years as his slave had familiarized her
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