CHOSEN BY THE CURSED ALPHA KING
Because Adele was there.
She stood near the center of the grounds, stretching with the others, and the sight of her hit me like a punch to the gut. The training gear she wore—tight black leggings and a fitted sleeveless top—hugged her body like it had been designed specifically to torment me. Every curve, every line, on full display. The fabric clung to her hips, her thighs, her breasts. When she bent forward to stretch her hamstrings, I had to curl my fingers into fists to keep from snarling.
My wolf stirred, restless and sharp.