The sun hadn’t yet crested the jagged peaks of the valley when I walked into the Turner Studios strategy den. The air was thick with the scent of old coffee and fresh betrayal. Blake sat at the head of the heavy oak table, his eyes darting between Riley and me. Though the seats were the same, the hierarchy had shifted. Riley, the scavenger who had successfully maneuvered into my shadow, now sat at Blake’s right hand as his chosen mate.
They shared a lingering, possessive glance as Blake sat down. The sight made my stomach turn, but I kept my face as still as a frozen pond. I felt Ashley’s eyes on me, searching for a crack in my resolve. She was learning that a Hart doesn't howl in public—we save our teeth for the hunt.
Blake cleared his throat, his voice echoing in the silent room. "The
