My beast was barely restrained, claws digging into the muddy ground as I stared at what I'd found. The female was lying unconscious near the stream's edge, her small frame broken and bruised, her torn dress revealing far too much of her battered skin. The rage within me was primal and all-consuming.
The Beta, a pathetic excuse for a wolf, was cowering behind a tree at the edge of the clearing. He stank of fear and arousal—a combination that made me want to tear his throat out on the spot. But the female needed me more urgently.
I approached her carefully, the massive paws of my Lycan form making no sound on the forest floor. She was beautiful even in her broken state, her jet-black hair spread around her like a dark halo. Her scent called to me—vanilla and lilacs mixed with the metallic tang of blood.
