Nash sits quietly, his knees tucked up against his chest, his neck ringed by that awful silver collar. I keep shouting to him, but Ansel leads me back inside the pack house. With a wave of his hand, he dismisses most of the other men, then sends one outside to guard over Nash.
“Now,” he says, turning to me, “you and I need to have a chat.”
He sits down on a plush leather sofa and pats the spot next to him, indicating that I should do the same.
I hate this guy, and I definitely don’t want to obey him - but he holds Nash’s life in his hands, so I take a seat as far away from him as possible.
“What’s your name?”
“Sarah,” I say.
“I’m Ansel. I’m the Alpha of the San Diego pack.”
“I know.”
“I’m sure that Nash has told you all sorts of terrible things about me, but I assure you, none of
