Sporting a four-month-old baby bump, Diana wore a black dress that emphasized her growing cleavage and shoulders. Donning her greatest armor—her red lipstick—she stood side by side with Dylan Cain as they waited a few feet away from the pack house’s door.
“You are meeting your enemy, babe, not your suitor,” Dylan mumbled under his breath. His sharp eyes remained on the lookout. The way he stood with his wide shoulders square and his spin straight like a rod while his chest puffed up like the proud alpha male that he was—no one would believe that he was secretly throwing a tantrum just because Diana was wearing something so beautiful and it was not even for him.
Diana would even be more amazed if he could read her mate’s mind. Only murder and torture filled Dylan’s mind. Of course, the ta
