Submission is Not My Style
Instead, his nose presses into the crook of my neck, his deep inhale sending a violent shiver down my spine.
Then he growls.
Low. Deep. Possessive.
“I hate that you have his scent all over you.”
My breath catches in my throat.
Jack’s grip tightens, his fingers digging into my waist like he wants to mold me into him, erase whatever traces of Fury still linger on my skin. His entire body is tense, his wolf lurking just beneath the surface.
And then, his silver eyes flicker up, locking onto Fury.
“Even though he’s my best warrior,” Jack says, his voice deceptively calm, “I still want to snap his neck.”
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