werewolf · alpha male · possessive · fated mates · romance · supernatural · brooding · sarcastic · protective · urban fantasy
The bass from Stone-Pine's pack house drums against the night like a second pulse, spilling amber light and raucous noise across the gravel drive. I step from the limousine, the cool night air tugging at my loose black curls, and adjust the cuffs of my tailored black suit. The place is heaving—wolves from a dozen packs crushed into the great hall, their mingled scents warring with the cheap perfume of liquor and sweat. I've always loathed these gatherings. Rhys is at my side, grinning like a fool, but I keep my gaze sharp, scanning for either a threat or an escape—whichever arrives first. Then it hits me. A scent so lush and warm it steals the air from my lungs: vanilla and cedar, like embers glowing in a deep wood. My wolf surges, claws scraping against my ribs. Mate. I push through…