Page 21 of Siren's Kiss & Feral Beasts
It’s coming from the center of town. Her.
Lifting my snout high, I inhale deep before taking off. The heavy thud of my paws rattles the ground while my claws leave deep gouges in the ground. Grass and dirt, and then the solid cobblestone streets bear the aftermath of my haste—the weight of an alpha wolf mid hunt.
Nothing registers or matters but that seductive perfume and the hold it has on me.
For a shifter, the mate bond is sacred. A gift from the goddess herself to her children, two beings created from two halves of a soul, that only feel complete when reunited again. She doesn’t make mistakes; each pairing is perfect and meant to bring joy and peace to each other.
You grow. You lean on.
You have a safe place to lay your head and loving arms that don’t judge.
She has to be…
Most of the residents have vanished as I run down the street where the scent is strongest. The few outside are shop owners, mostly wolves themselves, and they bow their heads as I pass. No one speaks, but their submission is sharp and instinctive.
They know. Respect.
An alpha in the midst of a hunt doesn’t stop until his prey is caught.
The wind picks up again, and this time, it feels as if it’s curling a finger in front of my snout, taking me past my original destination. I pass a small herb shop, coffee shop, the inn, and the blacksmith?—
A tavern sits at the end, two men standing outside, each holding a glass filled to the brim with beer. Its hoppy scent angers me, and I bare my teeth, a deep growl resonating from my chest. The two take a few steps back, never giving me their backs, and I stand guard outside the bar until they disappear around the corner.
Only then do I relax enough to retake the reins, my body shifting back into human form.
Fur becomes skin, and bones realign; my muzzle is now a sharp jaw. My fangs don’t retract, though. Instead, they throb with an urgency I’ve never experienced before.
To bite. To be stained with her blood.
I’m walking toward the entrance, only pausing long enough to grab a pair of trousers from a communal box of unworn clothes kept throughout the town for shifters. They’re on with the zipper half-closed within seconds, but then I’m shoving the door open.
The wood bangs against the opposite wall with a crack that silences the room. Multiple heads turn in my direction, but my warning growl has them looking away as my neck snaps to the right.
I find her automatically.
So pretty. So delicate.
My prey sits near the wall with the sweetest fucking face I’ve ever seen. Her lips are full and pouty, a soft shade of pink that contrasts perfectly with the delicate slope of her nose. But it’s her eyes—violet, wide, and bright—that hold me captive. The shade is unique. Reminds me of something, but then my eyes shift, and I’m taken by a sea of black.
Dark waves frame her face, tumbling down her shoulders and back, and I find myself annoyed with the table keeping me from seeing where each strand ends. My hands clench, fingers twitching to touch the ends before I wrap them in a tight grip.
Lower, and I’m tracing the fragile line of her chin, then neck, pausing on her exposed collarbones. No bite. No claim.
A deep, guttural growl of approval leaves me then while she makes a low clicking noise. The sound is almost indiscernible, the kind one makes when something sour hits your tongue and your face scrunches up. Odd, and for a second my brows furrow, but then there’s a subtle shift, pulling my attention toward the space beside her.
She isn’t alone. There’s a mage to her right, glasses low on her nose, and she whispers something I barely catch. All I can make out are the wordstrust and liebefore she stands, tapping two fingers on the cover of an old book. Then the witch leaves, giving me a wide berth as she walks past me and out the door.
Most of the patrons do the same.
At this time of day, business hasn’t picked up yet. The rowdier crowd arrives after the sun sets and animals want to play. Not all unmated shifters wait, and sex is a need they give in to.
But more than that, this temptress won’t be here when they walk through those doors.
I don’t share.
“Come with me, little treasure,” I say, holding my hand out to her, palm facing up. The words are a little garbled as my wolf rises to the surface. I’m taking in every beautiful inch of her through my eyes, reveling in the way her scent curls around us like a sinful caress. But more than that, we know.
Werewolves are possessive creatures by nature, and jealousy is an unforgiving emotion. It dominates, making the calmest of men into feral beasts when challenged. When their mates are coveted.
