That, for some reason, made them worse.
I had met Alphas now.
Caelin, obviously, which was an unfair standard because my mate could walk into a room in sweatpants and somehow make everyone’s survival instincts sit up straighter.
Alaric too, who looked like violence had learned how to love one woman very, very carefully.
Dominic, who could grin like a menace and still make the floor remember who owned it.
But Bloodclaw’s Alphas were different.
Power sat on them the way darkness sat under old trees, thick and rooted and patient enough to outlive anyone stupid enough to mistake stillness for weakness.
They looked almost like two sets of twins.
Not identical, not exactly, but close enough that my brain immediately started trying to understand the genetics behind them, because seriously
