RIGGS POV
Did I think I was going to find my mate today?
Nope.
Sorry—mates. Plural.
Two.
Two gorgeous, stunning, apparently insane hurricanes.
Curly black hair, eyes the color of tropical waters, and the kind of confidence that could send grown warriors running for cover.
The Goddess really must have a twisted sense of humor.
I’d come here to negotiate a safe winter for my group of rogues—nothing more. Shelter, food, and protection for two pregnant she-wolves and a handful of half-broken wolves who still flinched at sudden noises. That was the plan. Get in, talk to the quads, keep my temper, and hopefully leave with an upgraded treaty.
Instead, I ended up chasing laughter through the trees, blood roaring in my ears, heart pounding like I was twenty again.
Two mates.
Hell.
Even
