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two wolves in a forest

Click here to read Chapter 8

Dash and Alasdair run into each other.
from chapter 3


Letting out a sigh, he started the car up and put it in reverse. The crunch registered as he was flung forward. Shit. He threw the car into park and looked back. A motorcycle lay behind the car with the rider on the road beside it. Son of a bitch. His mint, all original 61 Corvette. That fucking asshole hit his car. His rage returned. Slamming the car door, he heard something fall off the back. The growl was audible.

“Listen, you asshole. You hit my car. My mint ‘61 all original Corvette.”

The man sat up. Pulling off his sunglasses, crystal green eyes glowed. Shit. Another alpha. Alasdair, his eyes glowing crystal blue, growled. The biker growled back and scrambled to his feet. Huh. Almost as tall… no, taller than he was. His torn clothes did nothing to hide his well-developed muscles. He yanked off his helmet. Dark curly hair framed his face.

Alasdair mentally shook himself. He wasn’t thinking the man was attractive. That asshole hit his car, his baby, his wonderful mint ’61 … Something else clunked and Alasdair looked back at the ripped rear end, then turned to see the biker looking at his bike.

The glowing green-eyed alpha roared, “What the fuck is your major malfunction?”

Loud. A big pissed alpha.

“You damaged my car.” Alasdair wasn’t backing down. “My mint ‘61 Corvette. You moron. Can’t you see a car?”

“Asshole, you hit my motorcycle. Where did you get your fucking license? Sears?”

The wind changed, and the man’s scent slapped him around the face. Alasdair stopped dead. No. No. No. No. No. His mate was a beautiful delightful little twink who would look good on his arm, and in his car, and be a sweet little morsel in bed like the luscious little redhead, Carter, who caused the fight with Ewan. His mate would be a submissive. He could not be a fucking tall dominant alpha with long muscular legs, a nice trim waist, broad muscular chest and back with a nice tight little ass that… Fuck no. The Fates couldn’t do this to him. His mate would be a twink. A beautiful little twink.

The glowing crystal green eyes darkened with lust as the biker rushed forward and roared, “Mate.”

Oh shit. Alasdair was pushed against his ruined car and lips found his. The kiss seemed to suck the very soul from him. His hard dick pushed against his mate. Mate. He pushed forward and twisted, pinning his mate against the car. He never noticed they finished ripping the bumper off. The growls had changed tone. Instead of anger, lust permeated the air. His mate yanked his shirt out of his pants and ran his hand under the shirt, caressing. Gods. The need to strip his mate burned. He ripped the tee shirt off the muscular wolf.

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