Chapter 3 - Chris

Jared and I have been living in Arcadia, our capital city—named after the ancient city where Selene’s werewolf son, Lycaon, first settled. The first of us. Our Arcadia honors our forefather and serves as the heart of our world.

It houses the governmental seat and the academy where wolves and witches train side-by-side—learning to fight, to hone our affinities, and to wield our Goddess-given gifts. From ages 18 until we find our mates, we live and breathe the academy. It molds us into the wolves the Goddess meant us to be.

And because so many of us are still unmated, the nightlife here is popping. Our parents designed Arcadia with us in mind—modeled after Paris, Rome, New York, and Berlin. They knew we’d need a release after the intensity of training. So they gave us everything: clubs of every kind (BDSM, dance, strip, comedy), global cuisine, skateparks, courts, pools. You name it, it’s here.

For my birthday, we’re hitting my favorite club: Shift. A dance haven with the best food, drinks, and DJ Tag dropping beats that make the walls vibrate. The staff knows me by sight—not just because I’m there often, but because leadership pups are always on the radar, especially those stepping into alpha or beta roles.

“Future Alpha Christine. Future Alpha Fatima. Oracle Josefina. Ms. Summer. A pleasure to see you again,” says Guillermo, the club manager, with a wide smile. “Follow me—your booth is ready, and Kimmy will be your server tonight.”

“Thanks, Guillermo. We’re celebrating Chris’s birthday. She takes over as alpha of the Artemis area in two days, so this is the last time you’ll see her,” Fati announces, never one to stay quiet.

“Unless I don’t find my mate,” I mutter. “Then I’ll still be down here once a month.”

“Oh, Chris, your mate is right under your nose,” JoJo says, ever cryptic.

I groan. “You know I hate that vague oracle shit. Either point him out or shut up.”

She just laughs.

“Happy birthday, Future Alpha,” Guillermo says over his shoulder. “I probably shouldn’t say this—bad for business—but I hope we don’t see you again.”

It’s his sassy way of wishing me luck in finding my mate. I smile and thank him.

He leads us to our booth. Kimmy soon arrives with appetizers and bottles of champagne. As we pour drinks, the girls raise their glasses. “To Alpha Chris!” they cheer, and we down the first glass fast.

Then the opening beat of Candy Shop by CryJaxx and Junior Charles drops.

“Oh shit! It’s my favorite song!” I shout, draining the rest of my drink and dragging the girls to the dance floor.

We form a circle, dancing and singing at the top of our lungs. Fati and Summer start grinding together, immediately attracting two males who pull them into a more heated dance. JoJo and I laugh and spin, twerking and twirling under the flashing lights.

Before long, JoJo is caught between two males, leaving me to dance solo. Which is fine—Bellydancer by Imanbek and BYOR hits next, and that’s my jam. I’ve taken belly dancing classes, and with my glittery skirt and crop top showing off my stomach, now’s the time to show off.

My hips sway from side to side, my abs flexing and rolling in smooth waves.

And then—I smell him.

Above the mix of sweat, alcohol, and pheromones—there it is: cedar and smoke. Campfire smoke. Home.

I inhale deeper, seeking him out just as a body presses up behind mine. Strong hands glide down my raised arms, sliding to my hips. His body aligns with mine perfectly, our hips moving in sync. He buries his face in my neck, scenting me, sending a ripple of desire straight down my spine.

Then he turns me to face him.

Hispanic. Sexy as sin. Brown eyes locked on mine. Full lips slightly parted. He holds me close, hands firm on my ass, while I continue my belly dancing grind against him. My hands roam over his shoulders, chest, abs. The look of pure lust on his face nearly makes me moan aloud.

I lick my lips, biting the bottom one, and his eyes track the motion like prey.

Normally, any guy who came at me like this would end up on the floor with a stiletto heel embedded in his chest. But this male? This scent? His presence?

It’s undoing me.

I want him to touch me like I’m already his. I want him to claim me. And I don’t even know his name.

Don’t get it twisted—I’ve had sex. Plenty of it. It’s not something most alpha wolves can put off for long, especially after their first shift. But I’ve never let a man dominate me.

I’m an alpha. I call the shots.

Yet this male? My wolf wants to bare her throat to him.

He brushes his lips along my jaw, whispering in my ear, “You’re so beautiful. You smell so good. I can’t resist you.”

I feel his erection pressing against me. Oh, Goddess—yes. Yes.

“Then don’t,” I breathe.

He growls, one hand wrapping around the back of my neck, the other gripping my hip to press our bodies together. Then his mouth is on mine—hot, demanding, his tongue exploring every inch of me. My leg instinctively wraps around his hip as we grind against each other, lost in the rhythm, the heat, him.

When his hand slides under my thigh and brushes the edge of my thong, I moan into his mouth. He growls again, low and satisfied, when he finds it wet.

Sex on the dance floor isn’t taboo here—not for unmated wolves. It’s practically tradition. And judging by the wolf whistles around us, no one’s surprised.

As I ride the rhythm harder, his finger dips under my thong and circles my clit.

“Oh Goddess,” I gasp, my head dropping back.

When I open my eyes, his irises are a rich chocolate brown, blown wide with lust. I know mine have turned stormy—the color they get before a thunderclap.

“What’s your name?” he pants.

“Chris,” I manage, just as he slips a finger inside me.

“I’m Esteban,” he growls, claiming my mouth again.

I melt into him, lost in the fire, until we’re jostled by dancers brushing past.

It’s enough to break the trance.

“I have a private booth,” I whisper against his lips. “We can curtain it off.”

His smile is pure alpha hunger. “Let’s go.”