The doors of the Alpha’s private office didn't even creak as I pushed them open. I was still flushed from the training grounds, sweat glistening across my skin, my hair sticking in wild waves to my damp neck. I wore only my thin grey training tank top and form-fitting leather trousers, coated in fine dust from the arena.
Diego didn't look up immediately. He was bent over a series of map blueprints, a gold fountain pen held tightly between his fingers.
"I told you, Miguel, the supply lines are—"
He stopped mid-sentence and his nose twitched.
Lifting his head slowly, his eyes tracking every inch of my body, starting from my mud-splattered boots, dragging up the smooth expanse of my bare midriff where my tank top had ridden up, and resting on my face. His nostrils flared as if breathing i
