Troy I was in deep. Totally and completely in over my head. And as I watched Horace approach, his gnarled figure limping through the garden as though he were simply out on a stroll, I tensed, my shoulders tight and rigid as I straightened up to my full height and leaned the rake I was holding against one of the freshly pruned bushes. The garden had become our meeting place after Maeve had caught me on the outskirts of the castle grounds on my first day in residence. Horace and I had been leaving notes to each other beneath a pile of fallen stones in the dilapidated shed since I arrived in Valoria several weeks ago as prepared to masquerade as Aaron, the breeder. Aaron, the one I knew she was falling in love with. She didn’t know me. She couldn’t know me. And when she cried out his name while I moved within her, I could have screamed and beat my fists in agony. Oh, I was in trouble. Meeting my mate was not part of the plan. Neither was trying to save her life. I was here to trick her, to stall until Damian’s warriors arrived to take over the castle. That was the original plan, at least. No one had said a thing about killing her. Romero wanted me to actually bed her and get her pregnant, potentially holding her hostage until the child was born and Romero could do away with her, or worse, keep her alive to harness her powers. But I wasn’t Romero’s pawn. I hadn’t even known he existed until the Persephone made port in Avondale, the capital of the Isles, six months ago when Alpha Damian demanded my presence and vaguely explained the mission. I never considered myself part of Poldesse. We smugględ and pirated for them, sure, but I had grown up running wild with the other orphaned “beach rats” until Keaton had stolen enough coins and gems to have the rotten body of the Persephone towed from its shallow grave on a beach on the island of Suntra and fully renovate her. Then we sailed the high seas. That was my home. My pack. That was where my loyalties lie. But then I found out I had a living grandfather, and everything changed. I would have done anything to know him, to look upon his face and maybe, just maybe, see a hint of the mother I couldn’t remember. But Romero was a monster.copy right hot novel pub