Tristan

I walked into the study and I found my uncle sitting near the burning hearth with a book in his hand, but he wasn’t alone. The Moon Priestess, the one who had presided over Gawain’s funeral back in the States, was sitting across from him.

“Ah, nephew,” the Laird Alpha said as I was let in by a guard. He gestured to a seat near them. “Have a seat. You remember Priestess Mother Alva, yes?”

The old woman smiled and gave a polite bow. I smiled and returned ...