ALPHA CORVIN
I stood at the window of my chambers staring out at nothing in particular when I heard the door open behind me.
Even without turning I knew it was Zoya from the familiar sound of her footsteps, the subtle scent of jasmine that always clung to her skin, the particular way she moved through space like she owned every room she entered.
She had blue eyes like winter ice and black hair that fell in waves down her back, the same coloring our twin sons had inherited from her. She was in her early forties but carried herself like a woman a decade younger, her skin still smooth and her figure still commanding attention whenever she walked into a room.
The years had been kind to her in ways they had not been kind to me.
But today something was different about her presence.
