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CHAPTER THIRTY EIGHT

Nash sits quietly, his knees tucked up against his chest, his neck ringed by that awful silver collar. I keep shouting to him, but Ansel leads me back inside the pack house. With a wave of his hand, he dismisses most of the other men, then sends one outside to guard over Nash.

“Now,” he says, turning to me, “you and I need to have a chat.”

He sits down on a plush leather sofa and pats the spot next to him, indicating that I should do the same.

I hate this guy, and I definitely don’t want to obey him - but he holds Nash’s life in his hands, so I take a seat as far away from him as possible.

“What’s your name?”

“Sarah,” I say.

“I’m Ansel. I’m the Alpha of the San Diego pack.”

“I know.”

“I’m sure that Nash has told you all sorts of terrible things about me, but I assure you, none of them are true,” Ansel says, looking directly into my eyes.

“Actually, he hasn’t said much about you at all,” I say, holding his gaze.

“Well, that’s something of a relief,” Anse
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