Michaela
Andreas’s quarters at the top of the stronghold were almost exactly as I remembered them from past visits – countless innocent days we’d played together as pups, and one much less innocent night we’d spent in each other’s arms, both five years and a lifetime ago.
The walls were draped in rich red hangings, tapestries depicting valiant Alphas and wise Lunas from our pack’s history. An old escritoire overflowing with notes and official documents camped in the corner by a window overlooking the training grounds.
And the bed…the bed was just as I remembered it, wide and canopied and luxurious.
My heart began to pound from more than just nervousness.
Dropping my chain, Andreas shut and bolted his bedroom door. Then he stalked past me to the escritoire and began to dig through
