Alpha Xander

The house was pathetic.

Too warm, too clean. The scent of lavender plug-ins made my nostrils flare. I could still smell the man’s fear.

He was scrambling now, pulling back chairs from a cramped kitchen table like he thought politeness might earn him mercy.

I didn’t sit.

I prowled.

Boots left muddy prints on his pale rug, and every creak of the floorboards made him twitch.

“I am hungry. Get us food,” I barked an ...