Alphas arguing with alphas is nothing but a waste of time.
The dregs of cold coffee stick in my throat as I set my mug down with a thud. Fuck, I'm exhausted. My eyelids feel like sandpaper against my eyes, and I rub at them with the futile hope of easing the discomfort.
Forty-eight hours.
Two damn days since I've seen the inside of my eyelids for more than a blink.
I haven't had a chance to even speak a single word with Ava. Not even a text.
It's impossible to keep her a secret forever, but without knowing how far I can trust these other alphas—bringing her into this mess is a risk I refuse to take.
The last thing I need is for the Council to push back and demand that Ava be returned to Alpha Blackwood in order to prevent any more vampire attacks.
Jericho's worries have set root in my belly, growing an entire forest of doubt and concern. He's right. Ava's not enough of a reason to breach the peace we've upheld for so long. Far longer than any of our lifetimes.
