THE ALPHA’S BRUTAL CLAIM
"Clumsy me. My feet seem to have a will of their own where strays are concerned."
That’s it. Something snaps inside me, a wire strung too tight, and I am there, the chair squeaking on the stone like a wounded animal, ale spilling from my hair and face, my entire body convulsing with an anger so absolute that it is all I am. “Touch me again,” I hiss, the utterance tearing from the depth of my stomach, “and the other hand will be your eating hand for a good whole month.”
Mara, a woman with a thin face, leans over another table, her eyes sparkling with unpleasant satisfaction. “Oh, she’s got claws,” she says. “What are you going to do, pet? Crawl to the high table and cry to the Alpha?”
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