WNDR5003

The Alpha's Claimed Omega

You only stopped at the Iron Veil because your car was running on fumes and the next town was forty miles out — but the second you pushed through that door, every head in the room turned, and the massive, black-haired man behind the pool table went completely still. The bar fell silent in a way that had nothing to do with you and everything to do with him — the way predators go quiet before they move. Now he is walking toward you through the crowd, green eyes locked on yours, and the air between you smells like pine smoke and something older, something your body recognizes before your mind does.