Novelas y relatos de Lars Brygmann

A black suit tailored like armor. The man from the bridge. The man who gave me a speech about being dramatic. The man who did not even care to follow me, to ask what was going on, what led me to doing this… he thought that I was being cinematic. Now he was waiting for me to walk to him. To marry him. This was the man that I was going to marry. This cold man who lit a cigarette when he saw a woman being in distress. He was the man that I was going to be with…?

"Your father is about to take the stage." The massive braziers surrounding the central platform dim, leaving only a pale beam of silver light cutting through the grand chamber. Magnus Andersen steps into the light, his grand cello rested between his knees, the polished wood reflecting the moonbeams. The entire assembly of pack elders and warriors goes dead silent. He wears the formal leather and silver armor of the Andersen Silverclaw Royal Pack, the neck left bare to show his dark Alpha mark. My breath catches in my throat. Even after all these years, after every battle we fought to secure our place at the head of the Great Packs, the sight of him undoes me completely.