I could feel the weight of the Presgrave legacy as soon as I stepped into the grand hall, and my instincts hummed like a wolf sensing the Alpha's presence. Harriet, with her gray hair pulled into a perfect bun and the icy gaze of a matriarch who ruled her pack with unchallenged authority, looked every bit the Alpha of this domain. My paws figuratively, of course almost froze at the sight of her. Any misstep here could mark me as weak, unworthy of this territory.
I forced a polite smile and lowered my gaze in respect. "Greetings, Old Madam Presgrave," I said, my voice steady, practiced. "My name is Hayley Seymour. I'm your grandson's mate."
Harriet's eyes narrowed, sharp as a wolf tracking prey. "You're Elliot's mate?" Her tone wasn't accusation; it was calculation. She was assessing my scent, my presence, my claim.
