Sinclair When I arrive at the home of Ella’s former employer, it takes all my strength to push my wolf down deep. The last thing I need is to actually murder a human, no matter how badly I might want to. She deserves it. My wolf mutters mutinously, think about how easy it would be. Then she’d neve
“Do not lie to me.” I growl, letting some of my wolf’s ferocity bleed into my voice. The woman reels back, shivering for reasons she doesn’t understand. She may have the dull intuition of a human, but even humans know when they’re in the presence of a lethal predator intent on destroying them. “Ple
Sinclair It’s dark out by the time I get home, and I follow my nose upstairs to Ella’s room. She’s just stepping out of the shower when I walk in, her dripping body wrapped in a fluffy towel. Her rose gold hair is still dry, piled on top of her head and held secure with a pair of chop sticks. She
“Well I’m glad you didn’t.” Ella replies firmly. “We don’t need to be inviting more trouble to our doorstep.” “Oh I agree.” I muse, laughter obvious in my voice as I move my hand to her belly. “My hands are plenty full with you and this little one.” “Our baby is not trouble.” Ella objects, narrowi
Sinclair When I reach Roger’s house, he’s not the least bit surprised to find me darkening his doorway. “I was wondering when you were gonna show up.” He quips, opening the door wide to welcome me inside. “Am I that predictable?” I grouse, stepping over the threshold. “No- I still wasn’t sure whe
“But you can still hope.” I suggest, letting a note of menace bleed into my voice. “Dominic, I’m done battling with my own family. From the sounds of it, we’re going to need each other in the months ahead… if there’s to be a war – we can’t be divided.” He grimaces, though I note he didn’t really an
Sinclair When I enter the Blood Moon Tavern for the ‘have a drink with the Alpha’ town hall event, I immediately begin cursing Hugo. My beta may have talked me into this campaign event with good intentions, but I would so much rather go home to Ella. After the way we left things this evening, not t
That’s not fair. I answer, beyond frustrated. Those are more hormones talking, not logic. Sure, sure. She snips. Blame the baby. I pat my tummy. “I don’t blame you.” I tell my growing pup, “I do, however, blame my body.” The baby flutters and kicks against my hand, as if he’s telling me he under