The call came on a Tuesday morning. It was a rare, peaceful day at the castle. Damien was away, having been summoned to an urgent, day-long meeting with the Alpha Council on the other side of the territory. It was the first time we had been apart since the confrontation at his mother’s estate.
“I’ll be back by nightfall,” he had promised, his kiss a lingering brand of warmth and possession. “Don’t miss me too much.”
He had been gone for less than three hours when my phone rang, the caller ID displaying a name that made my blood run cold: Isabella Blackwood.
I let it ring for a moment, my heart hammering against my ribs. Then, steeling myself, I answered.
“Isabella,” I said, my voice cool and even.
“Claire, dear,” her voice was smooth as honey, yet it carried an undercurrent of steel. “I trust I’m not disturbing you. I was devastated by how our last meeting ended. It seems my son is… overly protective. It makes any genuine conversation between us quite impossible.”
