The air in the cabin was thick and suffocating me with the scent of aged liquor and the Alpha power. And something else I couldn't place.
I was shaking with rage. My body shivered less from fear and more from the sheer, blinding rage that had propelled me from the woods and across the territory and forced me to stand before him.
Dawn stood up from his deep leather armchair. The movement was slow, deliberate, and a sprinkle ripple of hard muscle beneath taut skin.
He didn't rush, taking his sweet, infuriating time.
The dark sweatpants barely covered his hips, and the sight—as always—was a confusing mix of terrifying and utterly captivating on my path.
He walked past me toward the small, mahogany bar tucked into the corner of the cabin. Each step resonated with unhurried authority.
"An interesting theory, Bambi," he drawled, his voice low and almost bored, as he picked up the liquor bottle. The ice in his glass had melted, leaving a pool of dark amber liquid.
