Roman’s second in command, the tall blond, is no longer warily eyeing my crew. He stares at my wife as if refamiliarizing himself with her. There is an eagerness, a hunger that sparks in his eyes I don’t like. After a few moments of his intense scrutiny, Isabelle meets his eye and gives him a curt nod. The second in command acknowledges her with a lazy, lopsided smile. It contains that patented Wolf arrogance but something more. They know each other. My chest tightens, heat licking up my spine. I don’t know his name, but I instantly despise him.
