Adelaide's POV
After talking with Beata, she prepared afternoon tea for me.
The glass container held homemade vanilla ice cream, its sweet scent mingled with fresh blueberries Beata had just picked.
Our shadows on the basalt countertop were shattered by the loud crash of iron armor.
"Adelaide!" Ulrik's howl made the starlight chandelier above tremble. "How long do you plan to keep up this farce?"
"Beata," I said, watching the melting ice cream—a three-hour labor of love from Beata—slip down the counter, "clean up the glass. Ulrik and I need to talk."
Once Beata's footsteps faded upstairs, I looked up at the Alpha, his hackles raised. "Want to discuss Shaman Digby?"
Ulrik's slit pupils burned crimson. "How dare you?"
I smirked, unleashing my wolf's aura.
"Why shouldn't I? Maybe the
