WHEN SEBASTIEN WAS present, the air had been so full of testosterone that I might as well have possessed two jealous fake-fiancés rather than just one. But the instant the human turned the corner and disappeared from sight, the act—and the broom handle Roger had been holding awkwardly in his arms—clattered to the floor.
“This thing my father thinks he’s orchestrating,” Aaron began, waving a hand between the two of us, “isn’t going to happen.”
The shifter’s jaw worked furiously as he prepared to dive into a long-winded explanation that likely ended with, “It’s not me, it’s you.” But I beat him to the punch. “Agreed,” I said simply.
“What you have to understand...” Aaron continued, then broke off as he realized I hadn’t offered up a single argument. And, predictably, alpha werewolfishness
