Amethyst
Alpha Jackson Reynolds knelt before me, his aqua-blue eyes unwavering, reflecting a commitment that was both terrifying and utterly magnetizing. He wasn't asking for my life story; he was demanding the truth of our shared destiny. His hand, warm and solid on the arm of my chair, was a tangible anchor against the violent instability of my life.
“Tell him, Amethyst. Tell our mate. He won’t run,” Sable urged, her earlier manic excitement now tempered by a solemn reverence for the powerful Alpha before us.
I looked at him, at the dark, shiny perfection of his hair, the sheer, controlled power radiating from his body, and the deep, sincere look of devotion on his face—a look Desmond Conrad had never given me.
I took a deep, shuddering breath of the cedar and rain scent, finding the
