Alpha Victor and His Omega
Ariadne doesn’t respond; instead, picking out a bottle of rum from the mini-fridge and mixing it with a can of coke.
The water finally shuts off with a squeak. A moment later, Harry appears, clothed, with wet hair that he tousles dry with a towel.
“Alright,” Ariadne hisses. “Speak. We gave you way more courtesy than you deserve.”
Harry takes a seat without a snarky comment. He looks tired, not in the way that rest can solve.
His skin is mottled and lifeless, and his eyes are dark as graveyard soil. There are two hideous scars where his scent glands used to be, and without them, he seems to be a wolf no longer.
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