CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
I pace the length of Ford's study, the room where he retreats when the weight of his alpha duties presses down on him. It's a place steeped in tradition, with walls lined by bookshelves crammed full of leather-bound tomes and the scent of old paper. The fireplace crackles with a soothing rhythm, but it does little to ease my thundering heart.
"Skye, you've been walking back and forth for five minutes now," Ford observes from behind his mahogany desk, his green eyes tracking my every move. "What's on your mind?"
I stop and face him, mustering all the courage I possess. "I found something—a prophecy." My voice quivers, betraying my nervousness. "It was hidden in an ancient text, almost as if it wasn't meant to be found."
Ford leans back in his chair, the firelight cast
