The Alpha King's Breeder
“Can I fucking help you guys? You’re staring. I’m not keen on other men looking at what’s mine. Back off.”
A note of unease skitters between our groups. Aris’s voice still clings to the edge of charming, play-boyishness, but the undertone is as serious as death. His scent changes, too. Darkening. Deepening. Spiced with sudden violence, and I melt into his touch against my will, my fingers curling over the center of his chest, wrinkling his shirt. I turn to steal a glance at the men over his arm.
The middle idiot looks stunned for a split second before his eyes narrow, but his companions back off, their tails between their legs, so to speak.
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