The Alpha's Runaway Luna
She stops dead, tiny hands on tiny hips, eyes owl-wide.
“Everyone has stickers!”
“Marks, munchkin,” Kaia corrects gently, cheeks pinking. “Like the stories, it means family.”
Lily thinks about that and then nods, solemn.
“Okay.” She points at me. “Momma get first pancake.”
“Alpha tax,” Grady protests.
“Nah,” Lily says, already negotiating like a pro. “Momma first, Alpha second, Lily third, Uncle Storm fourth.”
“If it sticks, I riot.” River groans.
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