Stolen by the Alpha
“There’s not much to talk about. I’m an exile with a death warrant and a mate who’d rather kill me than have me expose the pack secrets.”
Cassie’s eyebrows lift. “Is that what you think?”
The question sits there, sticky and sharp.
I look away, up at the line of drying herbs that bisects the room. There’s more variety here than in most apothecaries: sage, mugwort, skullcap, dried poppies hanging like little brown bells. Bundles of pale birch bark, glass jars packed with yellow roots and bitter leaves, whole shelves dedicated to vials of what I’d guess are poisons if I didn’t know Cassie’s reputation.
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