LYRA VALORIC

My father walked toward us with the widest grin on his face, but I could tell it never reached his hate. “What a lovely pack you have here, Lucian?” His voice echoed around the garden like he owned the place.

Lucian’s brows furrowed and he sent him a cold, cutting glare that caused goosebumps to rise all over my skin. “It is Alpha Lucian to you.”

Father chuckled and waved his hand in the air like it was nothing. “I am sorry for the mix-up,” he apologized in a ...