Alpha Alaric
The scent of panic had fled the office, replaced by a cold, metallic tang of calculation. I had dismissed Keith and Desmond, ordering my son to confine himself to the Alpha floor—a useless measure, but necessary for appearances. Alone, I returned to the center of the room, my wolf, Thorne, finally settling into a state of predatory readiness.
Jackson Reynolds’ arrogance was my first strategic advantage. He had shown my spy, Jerry Hawthorn, everything: Amethyst was alive, she was happy, she was under his protection, and she was loved. He had flaunted his security and his wealth, all while knowing he was being watched.
I pressed the button on my communications console. “Get me, Jerry Hawthorn, on a secure line. Immediately.”
A tense pause, then the low, gravelly voice of the
