Page 75 of Arranged Wolf's Nanny
Two guards flanked the heavy oak doors. Wolves, broad-shouldered and bristling, their jackets emblazoned with the Green Mountain crest. They scented her before she reached the steps, and their expressions hardened.
“Business?” one demanded, his tone a low growl.
Rosalia lifted her chin, “I’m here to see John Heath. Tell him his daughter demands an audience.”
The taller wolf sneered, “You shouldn’t be here.”
“Then fetch him,” Rosalia snapped, surprising herself with the steel in her voice.
The two exchanged glances, their wolves restless beneath their skins. But after a moment, one disappeared inside.
Rosalia waited, the dawn air heavy around her. She kept her shoulders squared, though her pulse pounded.He won’t see me as weak,she told herself.Not today.
The door creaked open again, and the guard gestured her in.
The air inside hit like a fist, thick with cigar smoke, whiskey, and sweat. Wolves lounged in leather chairs of the reception room, cards and bottles scattered across tables, laughter low and rough. But when Rosalia stepped over the threshold, the sound faltered.
Heads turned. Eyes gleamed. Predators scented prey.
Her spine stiffened. She would not let them see her flinch.
And then she saw him.
Her father sat near the hearth, whiskey glass in hand, his voice booming with laughter. But the moment his gaze found her, the laughter died. Surprise flickered, then something far worse. Delight.
“Well, well.” He rose slowly, setting his glass aside with deliberate precision. “The prodigal daughter returns.”
Rosalia forced her legs forward. Each step felt heavier, but she held his gaze. “I didn’t return,” she said evenly. “I came for answers. I came to…”
Her words died on her lips as she saw them. Hulking and enormous, scowls etched deep on their faces, teeth bared to her.
Her blood froze.
Black Claws.
Here.
With her father.
“What…” she whispered, all her previous bravado gone. Fear threatened to choke her, to overwhelm her.
But then, all at once and all too suddenly, rage overtook her, and she snarled, the sound raw and primal.
“What the fuck are they doing here?”
A chuckle rumbled from the man beside the hearth. Broad shoulders, scarred jaw, eyes a predator’s gold. Raph, Alpha of the Black Claws.
“She’s bold,” he said, his voice rough as gravel. “Pretty, too. I see why Reinhardt keeps her close.”
Rosalia ignored him, fixing her stare on her father. “What have you done?”
John’s smile sharpened. “What I always do. Plan ahead. Strike before I’m struck. The alliance with the Iron Walkers proved…unprofitable.I found a better option.”
Her stomach twisted. “You’re working with the Black Claws.”
Her father rolled his eyes. “Always so hysterical. Just like your mother. This is no concern of yours, Rosalia.”
“No concern of…no concern of mine?” she spat, “You’re supposed to be allies with the Iron Walkers! That’s the whole reason you married me off!”
