KAEL

I arrived at her father's territory looking nothing like an Alpha.

That was deliberate. No escort, no formal attire, no display of rank or power. I drove myself in a battered truck I'd borrowed from Marcus, wearing jeans and a plain shirt, my hair uncombed, my jaw rough with a week's worth of stubble. I looked like exactly what I was — a man who'd been torn apart by his own mistakes and had come to beg for the chance to start making them right.

The border guards stopped me three hundred ...