Ayla

The next letter I got was more intense than the last one, so much that my blood ran cold and I held my breath:

My precious little butterfly,

Curse the hands that threaten to take you away from me.

It burns my skin to know that his hands have been on yours, touching you, marking you, coveting what belongs to me but I will wait.

He is only temporary.

That Alpha lost his chance, or maybe that was fate. He was never yours too begun with but mine.

You were always meant to be my queen.

To rule ...