At dawn,she rose and prepared a simple morning meal.This time,it was only for herself.The habit of catering to Ryder Thorne’s exacting tastes—the Alpha King’s unspoken expectation—was finally broken.
When Ryder emerged from the enormous master chamber,his senses,honed by years of Alpha training,instantly sought her out.Instinctively,he wrapped an arm around her waist from behind and lowered his head,pressing a cool,territorial kiss onto her forehead.
Elara turned her head slightly,enough for his touch to skim her,avoiding the full contact of his lips.
“What’s wrong?Is your current cycle making you irritable?”Ryder asked,the primal radar of an Alpha immediately noticing the minute shift in her body language and scent.
Elara lowered her gaze,feeling a suffocating pressure in her throat.She clenched her jaw,the resolve hardening her teeth,forcing herself to maintain her composure.“I am simply hungry,”she lied,the words sounding flat and thin.
Ryder didn’t press.The morning ritual—the cursory physical claiming—had always been her need,not his.He sat down,grabbed a thick slice of smoked venison toast,and took a bite.