Chapter 3

“Callum?” Jack asked tentatively. The other man’s eyes snapped open. In an instant he threw himself on Jack, turning the two of them into an entangled bundle on the sofa. As usual, his heightened sense of balance—Jack liked to think it was part of his werewolf inheritance, but Callum insisted it was due to Yoga—prevented them from toppling to the floor or onto the table.

His weight pressed Jack into the soft cushions of the sofa, his lips were hot on Jack’s neck as he sucked and bit his way across Jack’s skin.

“You smell so good,” he rasped between kisses. “I want to rip you open and paint the walls with your blood.”

For some reason, this strange confession turned Jack on more than it unsettled him. He searched for Callum’s head with his hands and guided him so they were face to face—one flushed and fluttered, one red-eyed and wild.

“I’m sorry, Jack!” Callum blurted out, his face morphing back to its human shape.