Chapter Twelve: The Hunt

The sharpness of Alba's glare was one that he was unaccustomed to; typically, she lowered herself in his presence, but since her meeting with Father, it had grown sharper, as if she intended to drop all the façades that made their relationship tolerable.

It was a hot day, the kind that signalled rain in the evening, so the bead of sweat dripping from the side of her face despite the lack of physical exercise was understandable; that it disappeared distractingly between her braless breasts held firmly by a tank top was expected, that he noticed the entire movement of a bead of sweat was another thing entirely.

Since when had he begun to feel differently around her? Nothing as intense as what he’d heard mates feel around each other’s presence, but more that he grew aware of her as a woman; his eyes took in her folds, her movements, even her body, in a way that was ill-permitted.

She had turned eighteen a week ago, so his wolf would have sensed if they were mates, and he would have promp