C1

GARRON FROSTWARDEN tapped his white cane against the floorboards of The Howling Stag Tavern, listening to the rowdy clinking of ale mugs. A thick scent of pine, sweet honey-mead, and cheap moonshine filled the warm air as the clock neared ten thirty on a chaotic Wednesday night.

"Garron, you are a lifester," Elder Morag cackled from her corner booth, shaking a bizarre silver werewolf toy shaped like an oversized wolf tail. "This little clicker hits the sweet spot perfectly, better than any mate ever could."

Garron let out a low chuckle, his fingers expertly rolling an unlit cigarette between his lips as he wiped down the polished bar top. He did not need his eyes to know the elderly human woman was wearing her ridiculous neon-pink tracker tunic.

"Glad to be of service, Morag," Garron said, his deep voice smooth as velvet despite the smoke-roughened edge. "Just keep the wild talk down before you scare the young pups away."

The tavern vibe was thick with heavy heat, a familiar comfort to his wolf instincts. Two tables of young humans from across the border were giggling, trying to talk the barkeep into pouring free shots of silver-leaf whiskey.

Garron felt the dark weight of restlessness tugging at his chest, an old ache that had nothing to do with the heavy drinks he poured. His muscles felt tight beneath his dark leather vest, his black skin warm under the low tavern lanterns.

He was the brother everyone called for a good time, the alpha-blooded protector who kept Frosthaven Moonreach grounded. Yet his inner wolf growled with a silent, empty hunger that simple tavern nights could no longer fix.

The heavy oak front door creaked open, scraping against the stone threshold. A sudden scent pierced through the thick haze of alcohol and roasted meat—fresh wild berries, rain-soaked earth, and pure, sweet human skin.

Briony Ashbriar had just stepped into his den.

Garron tuned his sharp hearing toward the entrance, the tip of his white cane resting steady against his boot. He could hear her uneven, heavy footsteps immediately, the soft scuff of her leather hunting boots telling him everything.

"Jessamine, give me whatever is strongest," Briony muttered as she slid straight into a secluded back corner booth.

Her voice sounded thick, slurred, and completely stripped of her usual sharp bark. The slim, skinny human girl usually carried herself with a defensive wall, her white complexion turning bright red whenever she argued with him.

Tonight, her heartbeat sounded slow, heavy with a deep exhaustion that rattled her bones. She had skipped his section entirely, avoiding the front bar where she knew he always stood.

Garron narrowed his sightless eyes toward her direction, his grip tightening around the damp towel in his hand. Briony never hid from him unless she was completely defenseless, broken down by something she refused to share.

"She looks like she drank half the trading post supplies," Riona whispered, leaning over the counter as she took over the clean glasses.

"Keep an eye on the front," Garron commanded quietly, setting his towel down. "I am cutting her off."

He navigated the familiar maze of tables with effortless grace, the light tap of his cane guiding him straight to the dark wood booth. The scent of sweet berry wine rolled off her skin in thick, intoxicating waves.

"Evening, little bird," Garron said, his tone casual as he dropped a cold bottle of well water onto her table.

Briony took a moment to look up, her breathing shallow as she leaned her small head against the high wooden cushion. A wide, soft smile spread across her lips, completely free of the usual biting insults she threw his way.

"Garron," she breathed, her voice a soft purr that sent a sudden jolt of pure heat straight to his loin. "Why are there two of you standing there?"

"You are completely wasted," Garron muttered, his hand coming down to grip the edge of the table as he leaned in close to her flushed face. "Who brought you out to the tavern tonight?"

She shrugged a skinny shoulder, her messy brown braid slipping over her collarbone. "Old Arthur brought his cart."

"You are going to ruin your stomach," Garron said, his inner wolf stirring at her sweet, submissive state. "It is time to get you out of this crowded room."

"But my scroll was just getting to the best part," Briony pouted, her fingers clumsily patting the worn leather book tucked inside her canvas bag.

Garron reached down, his large, dark hand easily lifting her small bag while his other arm wrapped securely around her slim waist. "You are not going back to the Ashbriar Homestead tonight, and you are definitely not sleeping on a tavern bench."

Briony whimpered softly as he hoisted her up, her soft body pliant and warm against his rigid, muscular frame. She buried her face into the crook of his neck, her small hands sliding up his chest to stroke the thick muscle beneath his shirt.

"He is so big," Briony mumbled toward Riona as they moved toward the private back stairs. "So warm."

Riona stared with wide eyes, her jaw dropping at the sight of the fiercest human girl in the village acting like a cuddly pup. "Do you need me to grab her boots, Garron?"

"I have her," Garron growled softly, his possessive grip tightening around her hips as his wolf hummed with fierce satisfaction.

He carried her up the creaking wooden steps into his private Moonwatch Tower Den, the heavy scent of his own alpha musk instantly wrapping around her. He bypassed the hard leather couch, laying her down gently onto his massive fur-lined bed.

"Tell me what happened tonight, Briony," Garron said as he knelt before her, his large hands carefully unlacing her dirty boots.

Briony let out a ragged sigh, her white face crumpling with a sudden wave of deep, unexpressed grief. "Elric Ravenscar..."

Garron froze, his entire body stiffening as a surge of lethal alpha rage flooded his veins. "What did that bastard Ravenscar do to you?"

Instead of answering, Briony rolled onto her side, hugging his soft down pillow tightly against her chest as her breathing slowed into deep, peaceful sleep.

Garron stood over her for a long moment, pulling the heavy wolf-fur blanket over her small shoulders before stepping back into the shadows. His chest heaved with unchecked anger, his dark fingers trembling as he reached into her bag and pulled out the worn book she had been reading.

He flipped the parchment open to the marked page, his eyes scanning the crude, handwritten romantic ink.

"Do not stop," the human woman cried out, her hips lifting high to meet the heavy, thick length of his hidden wolf form. "Claim me, fill me with your pack strength."

The dark alpha growled, his thick hands pinning her wrists against the forest floor as his heat flared. "Your tight little core was built to take my seed, little mate."

Garron felt a sudden, violent surge of blood rush straight to his groin, his trousers tightening painfully against the thick, throbbing length of his arousal. The pure visual of the quiet, stubborn human girl reading such filthy, raw words made his inner beast want to roar.

He adjusted his clothes with a rough curse, knowing he would get absolutely no sleep tonight with her sweet scent filling his bed.

He settled onto the far armchair, his cane resting against his knee as he stared into the dark room toward her sleeping form. Tomorrow morning would bring reckoning, and he would force her to tell him exactly what Elric Ravenscar had done to merit a death sentence.