Claimed by the Alpha

“Perhaps. That is your choice to make.” He shrugged again as if it mattered little to him either way, but Marijka watched his eyes flash from frigid indifference to languid heat. “Although I suggest whatever you choose, you do it quickly.”

“The inn,” she blurted before she could stop herself.

He held out her hand to her, his tanned fingers large and broad. “Then take my hand to mark your choice.”

To show those who were watching she was with him. Under his protection. Dear God, who was he that a pack of werewolves feared to attack him?

Marijka thrust her hand into his and he led her casually down the cobbled street, as if the beasts slavering for their blood in the dark behind them meant nothing.

Chapter Three

The picturesque inn was all Luka Stanislav promised it would be. A roaring fire blazed in a central hearth, casting orange and yellow shadows like dancing sprites across the scarred and battered wooden floor. The warm, homey smell of freshly baked biscuits and the hearty barley seasoning of a simmering stew filled the air. Small carafes of what she assumed to be the famous honey vodka sat on brightly painted ceramic candle warmers on each table and a grandmotherly woman was at the door to greet them.

She wore a bright red apron, elegantly embroidered with dragons in greens, blues and purples over a modest black peasant blouse and long skirt. Her white hair was pulled into a loose bun at the top of her head and fey flyaway wisps framed her rounded face. Small, delicate rosebud pink lips curved in a smile when she saw them and genuine pleasure lit her face with a slight blush.

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