The study in the East Wing was a room designed for war.
Maps covered the walls, ancient swords hung in display cases, and the fireplace was large enough to roast a stag. Usually, Ethan dominated this space. He filled it with his presence, his scent, his command.
Tonight, he looked small.
He sat behind his massive mahogany desk, his head in his hands. A tumbler of untouched whiskey sat near his elbow. The fire had burned down to embers, casting long, skeletal shadows across the room.
"It is the only logical course of action, Alpha," Dr. Vane said softly.
The psychologist stood by the window, looking out at the moonlit Alps. He was the only calm thing in the castle.
"She is my wife," Ethan whispered, his voice rough with unshed tears. "I promised I would never leave her."
"You aren't
