Alaric's POV
I could feel him the moment his attention shifted.
That young alpha — Evander. The so-called beast of the South. Every werewolf in this cursed city feared him, and yet here he was, staring straight at me like a wolf trying to read a storm. His instincts were sharp, I'd give him that. Most of his kind couldn't sense me unless I wanted to be sensed. But this one? His eyes lingered a little too long. His aura flared, cautious, searching.
I leaned back in my seat, one leg crossing lazily over the other, and let him look.
The café buzzed faintly around me — hushed laughter, spoons tapping porcelain, the heartbeat of a dozen humans and wolves mixing into one steady rhythm. But all I heard was him. The low, almost inaudible growl in his chest. The tension humming through the air like a live wire.
For a moment, I wondered if he could tell what I was.
Then I remembered — of course he couldn't. It wasn't possible. Not in daylight.
