Silas stood near the edge of the ballroom, a flute of champagne in his hand, though he barely tasted it. His attention every bit of it was locked on Lena Marlowe.
Even across the room, surrounded by pastel decorations, gossiping relatives, and too-bright lighting, she glowed.
Ronan stepped beside him, handing him a fresh glass. “Well?” he asked quietly.
Silas didn’t need clarification.
Ronan was asking the question they’d both been circling since the moment she’d stumbled into them in the hotel corridor.
Could Lena handle them?
Could she take her place in a triad with an Alpha and Omega?
Could she handle the emotional intensity binding their destinies together?
Silas watched her laugh at something an older woman saidGrandma Kate, if he’d overheard correctly. Lena tipped her head ba
