THE WILD ROSE
She cried out his name, trembling; he buried his face in her neck, body shuddering as ecstasy tore through them.
In that perfect, soul-shattering moment, they felt the mate bond sing, eternal, unbreakable, yet they held back the primal urge to mark.
His teeth grazed her skin with exquisite care before he pulled away, kissing the spot instead.
Rose clung to him, tears of joy slipping down her cheeks, knowing she had never been more loved, safer, more completely home.
“You’re special, Rose. I have never seen a wolf like yours. I still cannot scent your wolf, only roses. I can’t wait to make you my luna.”
Bab Populer