Chapter 3

Dryann sprawled in the steaming tub, muscles trembling, cum streaking down his stomach into the water. His chest rose and fell, every breath sharp, ragged.

“That was a good one,” Dan muttered, watching him with a lazy grin, cock still semi-hard between his thighs. “How you feeling?”

“Half-fucking-satisfied,” Dryann panted, smirking even as his body begged for more.

Dan’s grin widened. “Then let me fix that.”

He scooped a handful of water, splashing it over Dryann’s face before reaching for the soap. He lathered it slowly, deliberately, his eyes fixed on him with that dangerous gleam.

“Turn around,” Dan ordered, voice low, rough. “On all fours.”

The command hit Dryann like fire. He braced himself against the slick porcelain, ass raised, cock still aching.

Dan’s hand slid down his spine, soap-slick fingers spreading his cheeks before pushing inside. One finger, then two, curling, stretching him until Dryann’s moan bounced off the tiled walls.

“Fuck, Dan… don’t stop,” he gasped, stroking his own cock in desperate rhythm.

Dan shoved in a third finger, twisting deep. “You’re dripping for me,” he growled, pulling his hand back just long enough to spit between Dryann’s cheeks and push it in with his fingers again.

“Fuck yes,” Dryann cried out, body jerking with every thrust of Dan’s hand.

But he wanted more. He spun, grabbed Dan by the shoulders, and pushed him back against the side of the tub. “My turn.”

Dan’s eyes burned as he dropped to his hands and knees, presenting himself without hesitation. His hole twitched, hungry, ready.

Dryann gripped his hips and shoved in hard, burying himself balls-deep with one brutal thrust. Dan shouted, the sound filthy and raw.

“Take it,” Dryann growled, fucking into him fast, relentless, water splashing over the edge of the tub with every thrust.

Dan’s fingers clawed at the porcelain as he pushed back, meeting every slam with desperate greed. “Harder, fuck me harder!”

Dryann grabbed a fistful of his wet hair, yanking his head back, pounding into him until the slap of skin echoed through the bathroom. He reached around and fisted Dan’s cock, jerking him in time with each brutal thrust.

Their moans tangled, rising higher, drowning in the sound of water and flesh. Dan came first, cock spurting into the bath, his body clenching around Dryann’s cock so tight it dragged him over the edge.

“Fuck!” Dryann roared, spilling deep inside him, thrusting until he was empty, until his knees gave out.

They collapsed in the water, bodies slick, hearts racing. Dan curled into him, still trembling, still greedy for his heat.

“I love you, husband,” Dryann whispered into his ear, voice rough, raw, satisfied at last.

But elsewhere, the world stirred.

Mason Trawling—business mogul of Seattle, lord over glass towers and men, was more than what the city believed. To the clans, he was Alpha Mason, ruler of seven werewolf bloodlines stretching from the Evergreen forests to the snow-wreathed Cascades. His word was law. His strength unchallenged.

And yet, he had no heir.

Once, as a younger wolf, he had found his mate—his true bond, but rejected her. Family business had been crumbling, his father’s empire at risk. To save it, Mason was forced into another union, marrying another, who became his partner in leadership, but never in soul. Their wolves never accepted one another. They shared power, not passion. Years later, even with her blessing to seek his true mate, he had searched in vain. She was gone, as though the earth itself had swallowed her.

The clans whispered that Mason’s younger brother would inherit his throne.

But fate struck differently that night.

Mason had just returned from a council meeting. His wife was tending to him when his phone buzzed—not the one for business, but the one he had locked away years ago, never expecting it to ring again.

He froze.

“My lord?” his wife asked softly, sensing the sudden shift in him. Her eyes darted to the drawer. She saw it too. The other phone.

“Will you not answer?” she pressed.

He couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. Until she placed the device in his hand and whispered, “Pick it up.”

With a heavy heart, he did.

“…Clara?” His voice trembled with both hope and fear.

“She’s dead,” a young man’s voice replied coldly. “This is her son.”

The words struck like a blade. Mason’s knees almost buckled.

“She told me they came for me once—and that they’ll come again. She said to call you.”

Mason’s throat closed. He couldn’t speak. His wolf clawed inside him, desperate.

The boy’s voice hardened. “Look, I don’t care who you are or why she trusted you, but if you’re not going to—”

His wife snatched the phone. “Wait. Please. Where are you now?”

“…Phoenix.”

“And your name?”

“Maxton.”

She steadied her tone, motherly yet commanding. “Listen to me, Maxton. In three hours, your father will be with you. Until then, stay calm. Stay hidden. Do not open the door to anyone. Not friends. Not neighbors. No one.”

Silence. Then a softer reply: “…Okay. Thanks.” The call ended.

Mason stood, shaking, his wolf roaring inside him with grief and fury. He staggered outside, his wife’s voice trailing after him.

He ran.

Through the Evergreen shadows, until his wolf ripped free, paws pounding the earth. Both man and beast shared the same agony. The same loss.

At the forest’s edge, beneath the moon’s pale gaze, Mason threw back his head—

and howled.

The sound tore through Seattle.

The clans felt it in their bones. The hunters heard it and grew wary.

The world had just shifted.