Hunting the Blood Alpha

For eleven years I have watched Sloane Mercer. From rooftops, from cars, from the corner table of a café where she orders the same drink every morning. I am the alpha of the Blood River pack. I take what I want. I wanted her from the first night I saw her, and I did not take her — because she is the one thing I have ever been afraid of. Then someone poisoned her coffee, and watching stopped being enough. I brought her into my house, into my territory, into the middle of a war she never asked for. I told her everything. I gave her the file. I gave her the knife. And Sloane did not run. She stayed, and she raised the blade, and she asked me how long. I said: eleven years. She said: good. Now hunt.