The Alpha's Ex Is Back With A Son
Outside, Crescent’s underworld breathes: pawn shops with barred windows, back-alley stalls selling weapons and charms, the stink of garbage and blood rising from the gutters.
We head to my Porsche under a flickering streetlight. Ruth scans the street, hand on her gun. “Boss, we’ve got a tail,” she mutters. Her eyes flick toward an alley.
My wolf tastes it too—gunpowder and sweat, the same signature Jerry described. Damon’s scout. The kid.
“Handle it,” I say. Marco melts into the shadows with a blade.
I slide into the Porsche. The vial glows faintly in my pocket, tugging at me. The bloodstone’s close—I can feel it, a pulse in my chest like my wolf calling home.
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