Arrival Of The Werewolf Committee

Sporting a four-month-old baby bump, Diana decided to wear a black dress that emphasized her growing cleavage and her shoulders. Donning her greatest armor—her red lipstick—she stood side by side with Dylan Cain as they waited a few feet away from the pack house’s door.

“You are meeting your enemy, babe, not your suitor,” Dylan mumbled under his breath. His sharp eyes remained on the lookout. The way he stood with his wide shoulders square and his spin straight like a rod while his chest puffed up like the proud alpha male that he was—no one would believe that he was secretly throwing a tantrum just because Diana was wearing something so beautiful and it was not even for him.

Diana would even be more amazed if he could read her mate’s mind. Only murder and torture filled Dylan’s mind. Of course, the target of such bloodshed was the incoming pair of elders.

Diana rolled her eyes before she replied. “I know, babe. You told me that like… a hundred times already since I came out from the