Marigold POV
The storm hadn’t stopped. The sea roared below like it was mad at the moon, and the air outside was heavy with salt and thunder. I should’ve been asleep, curled up in that ridiculously oversized bed Sugar shoved me into—seriously, who needs twenty-seven pillows? But no. My wolf was restless, my head was buzzing, and something told me Alpha Gregor was probably brooding, half naked again, somewhere like a tragic hero in a bad romance novel with bad ending.
I was right.
When I padded onto the shared balcony, satin robe swishing against my legs (thank you, Sugar, for saving me from streaking across this royal palace-sized “vacation house”), there he was—Alpha Gregor. Sweatpants. And daymmmn that bulge!
Slippers. Gray t-shirt clinging to his chest like it was sculpted for war a
