Alone.
* * *
The guards announce him before I see him: “The Huntsman, Your Majesty.”
I sit up straighter, preparing my speech. I’ve practiced this. Cold,efficient, clear. He’ll take Snow into the forest and handle it. Simple.
Then he walks in. And everything changes…
Shit, he’s huge.
I mean, I knew he’d be big. He’s a wolf shifter, a legendary alpha, the best tracker in the realm. But knowing it and seeing it are two very different things.
He has to duck through the doorway. Literally duck. And when he straightens, he’s still massive, has to be six and a half feet tall, maybe more. With broad shoulders that could probably break down doors. Arms thick with muscle, visible even through his leather and furs.
Scars everywhere. On his face, hands, disappearing under his clothes. Not just the kind that make men look roguish. But the kind that say he’s survived shit that would kill normal people.
His blond hair is almost white in the torchlight. His features, sharp. And his pale eyes pin me in place even from across the room.
He looks mean. Dangerous. Lethal.
And beautiful in a brutal, savage way that makes my mouth go dry.
Fuck.
I force myself to speak, keeping my voice cold and dismissive. “I have a task for you, huntsman.”
He doesn’t respond. Just starts walking closer. His boots areheavy on the stone floor, each step deliberate.
I try to ignore the way my heart rate picks up.
“My stepdaughter has become… problematic,” I continue, maintaining my icy tone. Few words. Direct. The way I always give orders. “I need her removed. Quietly.”
He’s halfway across the throne room now. Still hasn’t said a word.
“Take her into the forest,” I continue. “Make it look like an accident. Wild animals. Bandits. I don’t care. Just…”
Then I catch his scent.
Wild. Woodsmoke. Alpha.
It hits me like a physical blow, and my entire body responds immediately.
Heat floods through me. Slick gathering between my thighs. My omega, the part of me I’ve spent years suppressing, ignoring, controlling, wakes up and fucking purrs.
No. No no no no no.
I fight it, maintaining my cold expression, but my voice wavers slightly on the next word: “…handle it.”
He stops walking. Goes completely still about ten feet from my throne.
His nostrils flare. Pupils dilating until his pale eyes are almost black.
Shit. He can scent me.
“You need to take her into the forest and,” I try again, desperate to finish this and get him out of here before…
“OUT.”
