Resisting The Savage Alpha Brothers
I had a premonition of what the next words would mean, "Ég elska þig."
My breath hitched at the sheer force, the raw intensity with which he uttered the words, the unfamiliar language rolling beautifully off his tongue. But I craved clarity, a definitive understanding. "Translation," I demanded, my voice barely a whisper.
He leveled me with a cool stare, a look that implied I should already know, that I should simply accept the sentiment without further explanation.
"Malachi, translation. English," I insisted, my voice firm.
The only word I understood from all he had spoken was my name: Wilder. The rest could have been incantations for all I knew.
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