Fated to the Alpha
He approaches me and I manage, “You can go. Thank you.”
It’s easier to talk now. Painful, but easier.
“You’re a halfling,” he murmurs, a strange expression in his eyes as he draws closer. I suddenly don’t want him approaching me. The itching sensation is getting worse the closer he gets to me, and I’m beginning to wonder if I’ve actually gone insane.
“It’s called half-breed,” I snap back, my fingers scratching my arm, unable to stop. The minute I speak, I can feel my newly healed vocal chords stretch uncomfortably, and my face twists.
Bab Populer