The tension at the dinner table was so thick it felt like breathing through wool. The smell of pot roast and red wine filled the air, a domestic scene so normal it was nauseating. Across from me sat my mother, Samantha, smiling as she recounted the trivialities of her committee meeting. To her right sat the Alpha—my stepfather, my mate, the man who had just claimed me against the front door twenty minutes ago.
I could still feel the phantom weight of him. Every time I shifted in my seat, I felt the slight ache between my thighs and the wetness of his seed, a secret brand hidden beneath my fresh clothes. My mother was oblivious, chatting about pack alliances, while Collins sat there with his perfect Alpha posture, his face a mask of cold stone.
"Collins, dear, you're awfully quiet tonight
