The Ruthless Luna Of Alpha Clyde

her heart pounding as she glanced around the room, paranoid that the hor

ed to turn on the bed. She was hurting,

She had been sleeping on her bed, in her brightly color

ad weird scratch marks. She didn't remember getting into a fight or changing into the paja

rall, lying close to the bathroom door, and the

real. She had managed to infiltrate the warehouse, but she had been attacked. She had almost been killed unti

lowed, trying to wet her parched throat. Who had brought her b

she could remember was staring at a pair of dark eyes. She remembered how the man had crept towards her silently an

as she had passed out, aroused fear in her and caused her to tremble. She looked down at t

was in danger? Why did he save her? Who were the people back at the warehouse? Wer

ings that had happened to her. She licked her sore lips, tasting bloo

d wanted to fall back in bed, but she needed a drink and most importantly, she needed to g

ehouse, hoping to dig up some truth about her parent's mur

lf killed. She was a low-level criminal investigator who always needed backup during emergency attacks. She couldn't handle any case on her own

e she had been too busy apologizing to a man she bumped into. Or the one time she had almost been shot trying to convince a homicide suspe

d to get herself brutally injured before a working day. And with all the disas

way from her bed. The clock on her bedside desk ticke

er image in the full-length mirror. Was that what she looked like? She t

bad. Her brown hair was a mess, her eyes were hidden behind dark purple eye bags, her nose was slightly

ly then that the knowledge that he had seen her naked hit her. She almost cried out in

ntinued to dwell on the past event, she peeled he

She grabbed her toothbrush, her fingers trembling as she grazed it with toothpaste. She had rushed in br

against the tired muscles of her back and shoulders, but also burning her inflamed cuts and bruises. She washed her light-brown hair thoro

took her nearly thirty minutes to get dressed. Her inability to find clothes

could wear to hide her bruises. Even in the summer, she wore long sleeves and coats, so she was certain sh

her ankle. She didn't, however, feel like they did, s

dation, but they couldn't take away the bruises and swellings that marred her face. She looke

eved that she was alive, and she had her head firmly stitched to her head and nobody had ripped it off

lty pleasure. Making herself instant oatmeal with Cranberries and pecans, she devoured he

gs were running through her mind, but the most important was cooking up an attractive, believable lie for her boss. Sh

ulled into the circular parking lot

month and she was certainly sure it would be extremely difficult to land another detective track wi