As the days turned into weeks, Silver Crest began to thaw toward Anthony Broderick, the rogue who’d wandered in as a thief and stayed as their alpha’s mate. Whispers of mockery softened into good-natured teasing. Juveniles idolized his special dodges, reenacting them in the yards with gleeful abandon. Warriors like Norman invited him to spar mostly to laugh when he flopped dramatically, and even Maya in the kitchen started slipping him extra rolls with a grudging wink. “Don’t get used to it, lazybones,” she’d grumble, but her eyes twinkled.
Anthony played the part to perfection: lounging in the sun during breaks, “accidentally” napping through minor drills, offering comically bad advice like “The key to victory is pretending you don’t care.” The pack ate it up, laughing, relaxing, finding
