Alaric's POV
The first shot cracked through the air like music.
I sat back in my chair, lips curling faintly around the rim of my cup. The blood in the coffee still tasted great— rich, metallic, divine. Humans had no idea how good their little morning habits could get with just a few drops of something better mixed in.
Around me, chaos bloomed. Screams. The scraping of chairs. The sharp smell of adrenaline and fear.
My men moved exactly as I'd trained them to — quick, efficient, invisible in the crowd. A few fired. A few just watched. The goal was never to kill her. Not yet. I wanted to see him first.
So, I counted.
Three… two…
One.
The door burst open, and there he was.
Evander.
The great, cold, untouchable Alpha of the southern pack — the one who'd spent years pretending he didn't have a heart.
