“I was gonna have sex with him—”
That damn sentence was on repeat inside his head. Anger, rage, and a certain green-eyed monster sat on his shoulder, egging him on as Brock carried the squirming female outside, through the woods, and to the small stream that ran across the property in back of the Dire Wolf Pack house.
Ever since he’d met the woman, he hadn’t been able to think straight. Right then, he could hardly see two feet in front of him. His Wolf was snarling and snapping at the image of that fucking asshole. Fucking Bison Shifter. He obviously wanted to go home missing a hoof or two for touching his Ariella.
My Ariella? No. She’s not mine.
Yes, she is, his beast argued.
Fuck. Brock was shaking with emotion. No, he hadn’t claimed her, but that didn’t make his Wolf any less possessive about the little wildcat.