THE WILD ROSE
J L FLETCHERmy daughter, alpha's pup
Rose stood there for a moment, longer than she should have, her body still keyed to something that had not quite settled.
She watched them go, then moved away, back down the alley towards her bike. She let herself calm. Then, reaching around for her helmet, dropped her keys.
Then she bent to claim them, where they had slipped near the back wheel.
Her fingers closed around them.
She straightened and went still.
The blonde woman, Bianca, stood beside her bike, and Rose realized she had not heard her coming.
Close enough that Rose could see the fine detail of her expression, the smooth perfection of her features, and the way her eyes held a quiet, unmistakable malice.
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