(Reginald’s POV)
I slam the crystal tumbler down onto the desk. Whiskey sloshes over the rim and soaks into a pile of reports I’ve already read twice. Nothing in them helps me. Just more useless updates from spies, empty words from the council, and—worst of all—nothing about how to control the damn twins.
They’re under my roof, eating my food, breathing my air. But I can’t touch them. Can’t use them. Can’t even speak freely around them without Almira sniffing out my intentions.
She ruined everything.
She stormed in like some returning hero, claiming motherhood and moral high ground like a prize. The pack flocked to her like sheep. Even Mid—my Beta—has started tiptoeing around her like she owns the damn place.
I stand up, pacing across the room. My heels echo off the marble floor, loud
