Thomas Calder had three drinks in and barely felt any of them.
That was how bad it was.
The fire crackled in the hearth of his private office, throwing light across stone and shadow and the remains of a glass he had already shattered in it. Whiskey clung to the back of his throat, sharp and useless. It didn’t dull the rage. It didn’t soften the dread.
Seraphine.
The witch.
The deal he had just made could damn them all.
He dragged a hand through his hair and stared at the flames.
Sometimes, he hated being Alpha. Hated the constant vigilance, the politics, the violence, the endless balancing act between monster and leader. Sometimes he wanted nothing more than to take his mate, disappear into some nameless cabin on a frozen lake, fish all day, and spend his nights wrapped around her i
