Skylar.
.
.
The scent of polished oak and distant pine assaulted my senses as the car rolled into the Maelstrom pack house—enough reminder that this time, I wasn't slipping in through the back with Conrad, but bound as their captive.
“Come on, out you go,” one of the three men who rode with me said as he opened the door. I stepped out, my eyes sweeping across the grand yard of the prestigious pack house. To the humans, it was only known as Reigns’ private resort. Only the werewolves knew the true intent of its construction.
They dragged me through the echoing marble halls of the pack house before shoving me into a dimly lit room that screamed ‘interrogation waiting room.’
“You're just going to leave me here?” I asked, just before the man shut the door.
“Beta Tegan will decide when t
