Torn Bond: The Alpha's Late Regret

belle

ng the door behind her wit

face, sat down at my desk, and pulled up

ent of my life confined to this estate. Gasper always said it was for my own good, claiming that without him or an escort, I was better off s

a man who rarely looked at me, I had carved my days into rigid routines. Two hours of ancient runes,

I never imagined those solitary hours would b

red away the empty plates, she hesitated, then mentioned that the Alpha had a

tire return week. Today was Gasper's turn to host, surrounded b

n reviewing the formula for the scent-erasing brew and me

n to sink below the treeline, casting

as t

my ankles, completely concealing the twisted silver scars on my left leg. I pulled on dark leather gloves, s

hurried over from the dining ro

ously toward the empty driveway. "Please let me call one of the pack

night," I cut her off gently. "There is no

ont doors and stepped out

sive instinct took over. My shoulders curled inward. I lowered my chin, pulled the hea

trangers felt like a silent, cutting question: how could someone so grand and accomplished as Alpha Monroe have a crippled m

nd and hailed

a'am?" the d

," I replied, slidin

ackwood Grill. An examiner would be waiting there to evaluate my runes and practical potion brewing

inutes through the thi

pposite the Blackwood Grill, I paid the

ing, gilded facade of the luxury restau

n entrance was a sleek, obsidian Bentley. The custom silver emble

er's

ead sank straight

ce, the private gathering-they

here my only chance at free