The Werewolf's Bride
The touch burned.
“Name,” he said. His voice was low, rough, velvet over steel.
“Elara Thorne.”
He studied her face like he was memorizing it. Then he leaned down until his lips brushed the shell of her ear.
“You just triggered the bond, little human. That makes you mine.”
He straightened. Turned to face his pack.
“The claiming is over. She is my bride.”
Outrage exploded. Shouts, snarls, bodies shifting forward. Kael didn’t flinch. He simply let his eyes glow brighter, solid molten silver, and the pack froze.