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144- alpha’s deadly range

Carla Winehouse

Anthony Gotham’s hazel-green eyes burned through my body like fire.

The first Alpha was in his usual all-black ensemble, black dress shirt and baggy leather pants that still somehow emphasized the hard body underneath.

His hair was longer, curling at the base of his neck and falling messily around the sides of his face as he glared up at me silently, his golden shoulder pads glinting in the moonlight.

“Goddess help me,” I muttered, shivering and stumbling away from the windows when he strode inside the overhang of the balcony. I could feel trepidation wind tight coils through my belly as his footsteps echoed loudly on the stairs, and then in the hallway.

Oh god, Anthony was going to be here any second! What do I do? What do I do?

My heart raced wildly inside me eyes bulged from their sockets as I froze with indecision before the doors flew open and he stood before me.

Power and rage crackled around his stout frame like lightning and the King glided to me like a cat.
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