The President's Mate
I hadn’t forgiven him for putting his filthy lips on my mate.
Then Fara entered, and with her came Jimmie.
He lingered at the doorway, his eyes locking with mine. They were unreadable, steady, and my wolf whimpered low inside me. Damn it. Franco had been right—I couldn’t afford this distance, not now. I could face enemies, hunters, even the threat of death, but not Jimmie’s hatred. No. I needed him with me for strength, for balance, for everything.
“Come, Jimmie,” I said, gesturing toward the Luna’s chair beside mine. “Sit by me.”
Bab Populer