The Tyrant alpha
a female my mom’s age squeals, squeezing my bicep.
I am. Shifters aren’t often made with my kind of bulk. I got lucky, I guess. I gently pry her loose, and another one cops a feel. She’s closer in age to my grandmother. I flex for her before I lift her back up to the plank walkway that leads through the tall grasses.
My ears are ringing with female laughter, and my nose is filled with—lemon.
Lemon?
Fucking delicious lemon.
Sweet, juicy lemon. Bright yellow, sugar-crusted, cool-on-a-hot-summer-day lemon. My nostrils twitch. My wolf, who had been on his back with his belly exposed, loving life, hops to his feet.
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