Lyander Wolfhart 6        

Liora's scent hit Lyander like a punch—sweet, warm, and layered with the delicate notes of blooming wildflowers. Normally, he hated floral scents—too cloying, too artificial, too soft. But this . . . this was different. Earthy and alive, like the memory of spring clinging to skin.

He inhaled again, slower this time, letting it fill his lungs. Something about it made his instincts stir, not just with hunger—but fascination.

And it made his blood heat.

When her breath hitched and her hips shifted beneath him, a sound slipped from her throat—half gasp, half moan.

Lyander cursed inwardly as his body responded specifically his cock stirred. His wolf went still, shocked—and then pleased. This horny beast.