Rashel sat at the small writing desk in her room, which had become her home, fingers tapping absently against the wood grain. Morning light spilled through the high-arched windows, but it felt like a spotlight of interrogation rather than warmth, so she stood up and closed the curtains. She hadn’t slept much. For one, her baby seemed to be having a hard time staying still at night. Also, she had the gnawing sense that something wasn’t right; something was going to happen soon. Now that she had actually thought about it, she knew why. Veronica had been quiet. Too quiet.
Jethro’s soon-to-be mate wasn’t one to sulk in silence. She was a roaring lioness, looking for whom to devour, always poised, always watching, always two seconds away from pouncing. Rashel knew it was only a matter of time
