Meanwhile, Mark paced restlessly, trying—and failing—to convince himself otherwise. No matter how much he tried to rationalize it, he knew what he saw. That woman was Becca. But how? She couldn’t possibly be alive. He had watched her being buried with his own eyes.
Yet her scent—no, it wasn’t hers. At least, not the Becca he remembered. Was it masked? Could that even be done? He couldn’t make sense of it.
“Henry,” he called out sharply. His beta entered immediately, head bowed in attention.
“Yes, Alpha?”
Mark looked at him, jaw tight. “Once this ceremony is over, go to Becca’s grave. Dig it up.”
Henry had half-expected that order. He nodded calmly. “Yes, Alpha,” he replied before bowing and taking his leave.
As evening fell and preparations were completed, Bianca approached Mark, pro
