Claimed by the Ruthless Alpha Prince
Her knee is scraped and bleeding, and she clutches a torn doll to her chest.
I recognize her as Mary, one of the warrior’s daughters. She is no more than six years old. I look around, wondering why she’s alone.
Common sense tells me to stay away from her, but she’s crying, and nobody else seems to care. Reluctantly, I approach her.
“Mary, is everything okay? Where’s your mother?”
She looks up at me with wide, watery eyes.
“Elara! I fell, and I can’t find Mommy! My dolly’s broken, too.”