Ella “What the hell are you doing?” The Prince snaps, his usually cold features alight with rage.He storms forward, aggression pouring off him in waves. “Nothing!” Lydia squeaks, whirling around and adopting an innocent expression. “I–she…” The she-wolf stammers, red faced and shaking. “You’re th
“Well, who would benefit?” I ask simply, folding my hands in my lap. I try to telepathically force Lydia’s name into his thoughts, but I’m not sure it’s successful. He pauses thoughtfully, then he shakes his head, disappointing me. “I don’t have time for this. I came to tell you not to get any brig
Sinclair I’d been ready to storm the Royal Palace when I learned the Prince had taken Ella, and if I had been sure of her location, I would have already done it. It would be the very definition of hubris to imprison her within his own home, though I don’t put anything past the Prince. More importan
The first man steps forward, a hard look on his face. “All do respect, Alpha, but Gabriel trained me, he was one of the best fighters I’ve ever seen, and he saved my life more than once over the years. That cowardly bastard probably had to outnumber them five to one just to take him out. And targeti
Ella Sleep! I beg my manic wolf. You have to keep your strength up! We need sleep! I can’t rest when there’s danger. She argues stubbornly, and though I’m frustrated, I understand. I’m so exhausted with fear, anxiety, and pregnancy that I’m barely hanging onto my sanity by a thread, but I know it’
Sinclair dips his head to my neck as he focuses on the pulses of energy through his bond with our son, nibbling the spot on my shoulder where he claimed me the last time we were here. “He’s okay, but he’s stressed.” He finally confirms, “he can feel your anxiety.” It’s not the best news, but it’s s
Ella “What do you mean, you won’t tell me?” Sinclair rumbles, full of foreboding. He’s glowering down at me, emitting raw Alpha authority and unflinching disapproval. The idea that anyone would keep me from him – even me myself – seems to be more than he can handle. Still, I know I have to – if he
“That’s an idea.” Sinclair is watching me with narrowed eyes, and too late I realize he’s still got one hand on my tummy, no doubt channeling my feelings through the baby. “But what aren’t you saying, trouble? What aren’t you telling me?” I summon a growl, hating his perceptiveness. “Look, if I try