The Mate They Rejected
It was hunting—methodically, patiently, moving toward the exact thing every wolf's biology was built to protect.
And somewhere north of here, an Alpha I'd spent five years refusing to think about had just become its newest target.
I closed the notebook.
I didn't sleep at all that night.
Sun came through the kitchen window at the right angle for once, catching the honey jar Remy had commandeered for his toast.
"It goes on everything," he informed Oliver, spreading it thick. "That's the whole point of honey."
"It's not supposed to go on eggs." Oliver cut his own toast into four even squares, unbothered by the argument. "That's disgusting."