Montana. Neutral ground.
Selene booked a massive timber lodge fifty miles from the nearest paved road. Cassian drove the rental SUV up the switchbacks like he was actively trying to snap the axle. I didn't complain. I just white-knuckled the door handle for three hours.
"You are never driving again," I muttered when we finally parked in the gravel lot.
"I'm an Alpha. I don't do passenger seats."
"You're a menace to public infrastructure."
He flashed that exhausted, microscopic smirk. I was starting to keep a running tally of those.
The lodge smelled like woodsmoke, pine needles, and a localized testosterone leak. Eight Alphas. Four proxies. You could feel the territorial aggression vibrating in the floorboards.
Selene was waiting in the foyer. Hair pulled back tight enough to cause
