Chapter - 3 | Sample

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Cold crisp air filled his lungs. But it did nothing to ease the tension. Aaron George Randolph marched to the balcony. His fists clenched.

They were in his territory again––hunting. His beast was on edge. It has just been little more than a week since his last run. Strong muscles in his arms flexed as he tightened his grip on the railing.

They wanted a challenge, and he'd give it to them. He'd hunt them all and burn their asses, erasing their species for once and for all.

The double doors to his makeshift office swung open.

His father strode in, moving further to sit on the leather seat. Aaron inherited all his physical features from his father. Both having golden blond hair and warm brown eyes with high cheekbones and strong jaw lines, but he stood a couple inches taller than his father at six-foot-three.

"Something's bothering you." His father, Jerome, observed.

Instead of answering, the towering male made his way back inside the room and over to the cart filled with an unimaginable variety of tea. He filled the white china with the patience of a sprouting seed, waiting for the water to come to a boil before dousing it over the organic leaves sitting in the teacup. Saucer in hand, he balanced it perfectly with every step and placed it gently in front of his father.

"I suppose you're telling me to mind my own business." The former king closed his eyes, relaxing against the leather couch.

He smirked. "It's nothing you should worry about."

"I could argue that point, but I lack your mother's perverseness. She could carry on an argument for weeks without an end in sight." He chuckled. "But I know my boys. You'll do whatever you want no matter the consequence."

Smiling, Aaron pinched the bridge of his nose before sitting across his father and pulling up the slacks to be comfortable. "Are you trying to score yourself a humble brag, Dad?"

He scoffed. "Definitely not. Your mother won in most departments. I just gladly resorted myself to taking an L whenever I possibly could."

The strapping male seated opposite to the former king visibly cringed at his modern use of words.

"God, don't say that again."

He laughed. "I've got to find ways of keeping myself entertained. Bringing good stories to tell your mother when I meet her again. Otherwise, she'll have my ass for being such a gloom bucket." His oldest son looked across the table at his father, noticing the deep, dark bags under his eyes that once shone with authority and love. Jerome was slowly but surely becoming a skeleton of the male he once used to be. But this was the curse of their race––one mate for a lifetime. Since the loss of his mate, the words have slowly proven themselves true as sorrow etched all his features. Anything and everything reminded the male of his dead mate, their mother.

To live out such a life even after finding your soul mate. . .

Aaron looked away, swallowing hard before standing. He'd been trying to rub the edge off, but this made matters worse.

He thought back to the time when his parents used to live happily, eyes twinkling with joy and love for each other. Often enjoying brunch and evening tea together. Esmeralda Maria Randolph, his mother, was always the voice of reason. He gained that quality from his mother.

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