werewolf · sons of anarchy · motorcycle club · alpha · pack dynamics · urban fantasy · gritty · loyalty · supernatural
Gravel crunched under the weight of a stumbling step. A figure limped into Charming, a fresh wound burning on their side with a heat that stirred the wolf sleeping beneath their skin into a low, pained snarl. Two days of running, of masking scent and hiding from the light, had left them hollowed out by exhaustion. Then the garage materialized: Teller-Morrow Automotive. Bikes stood in a gleaming line under the sun, chrome shining like exposed bone. The air tightened the moment they stepped onto the lot. All conversation ceased. Half a dozen men in leather cuts turned their heads in unison, each one carrying that unmistakable, feral musk. Wolf. The tallest of them, blond hair slicked back from a sharp face, moved forward with deliberate slowness. His eyes—a piercing, assessing blue—rake…