“You're finally single.”

Dominic’s words weren't a comfort; they were a claim. The interior of the SUV felt small, thick with the scent of his arousal and the heavy, metallic tang of the predator he kept on a short leash. Jess Whitman didn't move. She couldn't. Her pulse thrashed against the skin of her throat, a frantic bird caught in the sights of a hawk.

“You're an arrogant prick, Dominic Hale,” Jess bit out, though the fire in her tone was damp. “I just watched my life implode. I’ve got Michael’s scent all over me like a goddamn stain, and you’re sitting there doing math on my availability?”

Dominic shifted. The leather of the driver's seat groaned under his bulk. He didn't look at the road. He looked at her, his blue eyes fracturing into shards of gold in the dim light of the dashboard. “I’m not doing math, Jess. I’m stating a fact. That pathetic excuse for a wolf never deserved the ground you walked on. He wanted a plaything. I want a mate.”

“Don't use that word,” she snapped, her knuckles white as she gripped the door handle. “I’m wolfless. A glitch in the Whitman line. You're an Alpha heir. You need a queen with claws, not a girl who has to carry a pocketknife to feel safe.”

“Is that what you think?” Dominic’s voice dropped, a low, tectonic rumble that made the floorboards vibrate. He reached out, his hand wrapping around the back of her neck. His palm was a brand, searing hot. “You think a shift determines worth? I’ve seen Omegas with more bite than Council Alphas. You? You’ve got a furnace in your head and ice in your veins. You’re more wolf than Michael Reynolds will ever be.”

“Let go, Dom. My brothers are probably already tracking my phone.”

“Let them track it. Let Jonathan howl until his lungs burst.” Dominic’s thumb stroked the sensitive skin behind her ear, a gesture so possessive it made her toes curl. “I’ve spent a decade playing the loyal friend. I’ve sat at your table, drank your brothers' beer, and watched you look at every man in the room except me. That ends tonight.”

“We’re at my building,” she whispered, desperate to break the spell. “I’m going up. Alone.”

“The hell you are.”

Dominic killed the engine. The silence that followed was heavy, pressurized. He moved with a speed that defied his size, rounding the car and ripping her door open before she could even reach for the latch. He didn't offer a hand; he reached in and hauled her out, his grip firm on her waist.

“I can walk!” Jess hissed, shoving at his chest. It was like pushing against a brick wall.

“You’re shaking so hard your knees are going to give out,” he growled, ushering her toward the lobby. “Upstairs. Now.”

The elevator ride was a torture of proximity. Dominic stood behind her, his heat radiating through her hoodie, his breath stirring the loose hairs at the nape of her neck. Jess stared at the floor, her mind a chaotic mess of Michael’s betrayal and Dominic’s sudden, overwhelming presence.

The moment they stepped inside her apartment, the air changed. It was small—a student’s place, shared with Emily Parker, who was thankfully out for the night.

“Ice,” Dominic commanded, pointing toward the kitchen.

“I can get my own ice,” Jess snapped, but he was already there, his large frame making her tiny kitchen look like a dollhouse. He grabbed a towel, filled it with cubes, and turned back to her.

“Sit.”

She sat at the small wooden table. He knelt between her knees, a position of service that felt dangerously like a trap. He took her hand—the one she’d used to deck Michael—and pressed the ice pack against her swollen knuckles.

“Fuck,” she winled, the cold biting into her skin.

“Steady,” he murmured. He didn't look up. He focused on her hand, his touch surprisingly light. “He’s lucky I didn't rip his throat out, Jess. The only reason he’s still breathing is because you asked me to leave it.”

“I don't need a hero, Dom. I need a shower.”

“You need to realize that you’re not alone.” He finally looked up. The gold in his eyes was vivid now, the mark of a wolf pushing to the surface. “You’ve spent your whole life trying to prove you don't need anyone because the pack treats you like a liability. You’re not a liability to me. You’re a prize.”

Jess felt the tears coming again, and she hated it. She hated being vulnerable, especially in front of him. “Stop it. Just… stop being nice to me. It’s worse than the yelling.”

“I’m not being nice.” Dominic stood up, pulling her with him. The ice pack thudded to the floor. He didn't care. He backed her against the refrigerator, his hands pinning her shoulders. “I’m being honest. I want you, Jess Whitman. I’ve wanted you since you were eighteen and walked into that New Year’s party looking like a goddamn revolution.”

“My brothers will kill you,” she breathed, her heart slamming against her ribs.

“Let them try.”

He leaned in, his nose brushing hers. The scent of him—smoke, cedar, and raw Alpha—drowned out the world. “Tell me you don't want this. Tell me you don't feel the way the air thrums when we’re in the same room. Tell me Michael is the only one who gets to touch you.”

“I hate you,” she whispered, but her hands were already sliding up his chest, finding the hard, corded muscle beneath his shirt.

“Liar.”

He crushed his mouth to hers.

It wasn't a question. It was a demand. Dominic tasted like dark coffee and desperation. His tongue swept into her mouth, claiming her with a ferocity that made Jess’s head spin. She groaned, her fingers digging into his shoulders, her back arching as he pulled her flush against him.

He was hard—unforgivingly so—pressing into her belly through his jeans. The contrast was a shock; the star quarterback, the disciplined icon, losing his mind over a wolfless girl in a cramped kitchen.

Dominic’s hands slid down, gripping her thighs and hoisting her up. Jess wrapped her legs around his waist, her heels digging into his lower back. He carried her toward the bedroom, his mouth never leaving hers.

He dropped her onto the bed, the mattress groaning. Before she could catch her breath, he was on top of her. He ripped his shirt over his head, the fabric tearing in his haste. His chest was a landscape of scars and power, his wolf tattoo shifting with the movement of his muscles.

“You're mine tonight,” he growled, his voice a low, animal rasp.

He didn't wait for her to undress. He yanked her hoodie over her head, then her leggings, leaving her in the black lace she’d worn for another man. His eyes darkened until they were almost black.

“He saw you in this?” Dominic’s voice was lethal.

“No,” Jess panted. “He didn't. I was in the closet. I saw him, he didn't see me.”

“Good.” Dominic’s hand slid between her thighs, his fingers finding her already soaked. “Because I’m the only one who gets to see you like this. Ever again.”

He moved with a frantic, messy hunger. He didn't care about grace. He cared about possession. He entered her with one deep, violent surge that knocked the air from her lungs. Jess screamed, her head hitting the pillow, her eyes rolling back as he filled her to the absolute limit.

“Dom!” she cried out, her fingers clawing at his arms.

“Look at me,” he commanded, his sweat dripping onto her skin. “See who’s inside you, Jess. See who’s claiming you.”

He began to move, his thrusts short and brutal. He was pounding into her, his hips slamming against hers with a rhythmic, wet sound that echoed in the small room. It wasn't the polite, careful sex she’d had with Michael. This was a breaking. A rebuilding.

Jess’s body responded with a violence of its own. She met every thrust, her hips tilting up, her teeth bared. The pleasure was too much, a jagged lightning bolt that threatened to shatter her.

“More,” she sobbed, her legs tightening around him. “Please, Dom, more.”

He flipped her over, dragging her to the edge of the bed. He stood on the floor, pulling her hips to him, and drove in from behind. The angle was deeper, hitting a spot that made Jess’s vision go white. He gripped her waist so hard his fingers left bruises, his chest heaving as he poured everything he had into her.

“Mine,” he groaned, the word a physical weight. “Always… fucking… mine.”

The climax hit her like an explosion. Jess’s internal muscles clamped down on him, sending her into a convulsing, screaming release. Dominic roared, his body jerking as he came, his knot swelling and locking them together in the ancient, biological bond.

He collapsed over her, his heavy frame crushing her into the mattress. They stayed like that for minutes, the only sound their ragged breathing and the ticking of the clock on the nightstand.

Slowly, the weight of reality began to settle. The heat faded into a stinging, lingering warmth. Jess felt the literal weight of his body—the raw, 3D reality of a man who could destroy her world just as easily as he’d mended it tonight.

Dominic rolled to his side, pulling her into his arm. He didn't say anything. He didn't have to.

Suddenly, his phone buzzed on the floor where he’d dropped his jeans. He ignored it. It buzzed again. And again.

He reached down, his face hardening as he looked at the screen.

“What?” Jess asked, her voice raspy.

Dominic didn't answer. He turned the phone toward her. It was a group chat. The Whitman brothers.

Jonathan: Dominic, why is your car at Jess’s place? And why aren't you answering your goddamn phone?

Marcus: I’m five minutes out. If you’ve touched her, Hale, NFL contract or not, I’m putting you in the ground.

Jess looked at the door. Then at Dominic.

“They're here,” she whispered.

A heavy fist pounded on the front door, the wood splintering under the force of an Alpha’s rage.

“HALE! OPEN THIS FUCKING DOOR!” Jonathan’s roar shook the walls.

Dominic stood up, reaching for his pants, a dark, dangerous smile playing on his lips. “I guess it’s time to tell them.”

"What the hell took you so long?" Emily Parker's voice sliced through the heavy silence of the apartment as the lock clicked. She wasn't just my roommate; she was the only person who didn't look at me like a cracked piece of glass.

"Michael happened," Jess said, her voice like gravel. She tossed her keys onto the scarred wooden table. "Or rather, Vanessa Price happened to be riding him like a stolen motorcycle in his bedroom."

Emily’s jaw hit the floor. She dropped the magazine she’d been clutching—a glossy rag with Dominic Hale on the cover, looking every bit the Alpha star he was. "You’re joking. Tell me you’re joking, Jess. Michael? The 'perfect' future Pack Doctor?"

"I wish." Jess pulled the oversized hoodie tighter around her frame, hiding the black lace that felt like a shroud now. "I was in the closet. Literally. Saw the whole show. Every disgusting, knotted second of it."

"Oh, Jess. Fuck. What did you do?"

"I broke his nose. Then I left." Jess walked into the kitchen, her hands still trembling. "And then Dominic Hale picked me up from the sidewalk."

"Wait, back up." Emily followed her, her eyes wide. "The Northstar Alpha’s heir? The man who hasn't stepped foot in this pack's territory for two years? That Dominic?"

"He was in town for some shoot. Heard me crying on the phone—I dialed him by mistake, Em. I thought I was calling Jonathan." Jess leaned against the counter, the cool granite biting into her palms. "He hauled Michael off the ground like he was a bag of trash. He almost shifted right there on the street."

Emily whistled, leaning against the doorframe. "Well, if you're going to have an audience for your breakup, it might as well be the most powerful wolf in the country. Did he... you know... try anything?"

"He's an arrogant prick," Jess snapped, but her face flushed. The memory of his heat in the car, the way his scent had practically colonized her lungs, made her stomach do a slow, traitorous roll. "He told me I was finally single. Like I was a trophy he’d been waiting to bid on."

"He's always looked at you like that, Jess. Since we were kids." Emily picked up the magazine again, pointing at Dominic’s smoldering gaze. "Look at the glisten. The man is a literal thirst trap. He’s been your brothers’ best friend since forever, but the way he stares at you during pack runs? That isn't 'family friend' energy. That’s 'I want to claim you' energy."

"He was my first kiss, Em. You know this. Fourteen years old in a closet during seven minutes in heaven. He tasted like peppermint and trouble." Jess let out a jagged laugh. "Jonathan caught us before things got interesting, and Dom hasn't been able to look my brothers in the eye since. He’s a man-slut, anyway. He’s got a date tonight with some pop star."

"Yeah, well, he’s not here with her. He was with you."

The phone on the counter buzzed, a sharp, angry vibration. Jess looked down.

Michael: Jess, please. It was an accident. My wolf just took over.

Michael: I love you. Don't throw two years away because of one mistake. Answer me!

Michael: Fine! Be a bitch about it. See if any other wolf wants a girl who can't even grow fur.

"What an absolute piece of shit," Emily growled, reading over Jess's shoulder. "Block him. Now."

"Done." Jess swiped the screen, the finality of the action feeling like a punch to the gut. She walked into her bedroom and shut the door. She stripped off the hoodie, the lace underneath mocking her. She reached into her drawer and pulled out an old, faded jersey. It had 'HALE' printed across the back in bold, white letters. Dominic’s mother had sent it to her after his first pro game. It was soft, smelling of home and a safety she didn't feel anymore. She slid it on, the hem hitting mid-thigh.

"New hair, new Jess," Emily declared the next morning, dragging her toward the door. "You are not moping. Ethan Cole called. There’s a party tonight at the lake house. The whole circle is going to be there."

"I don't want to see my brothers, Em. They'll know. They always know."

"Then we make sure they're too busy looking at your new look to ask questions."

The salon was a blur of chemical smells and the snip of scissors. When Jess looked in the mirror, she didn't see the 'delicate' Whitman sister anymore. The sharp bob and the defiant glint in her eyes made her look like a wolf ready to hunt.

"Perfect," Emily whispered. "Now, let's go get wasted."

The lake house was thumping with bass by the time they arrived. The scent of cheap beer and shifting pheromones was thick. Ethan Cole, a soccer star whose leg was currently in a brace, hobbled over to them with a grin. He was one of the few who treated Jess like an equal, probably because he spent half his time sidelined by injuries himself.

"Whitman! You look dangerous," Ethan said, handing her a plastic cup. "I heard Reynolds is sporting a very crooked nose today. Care to comment?"

"He tripped," Jess said, taking a long pull of the lukewarm liquid. "Repeatedly. Into my fist."

"Atta girl." Ethan leaned in, his voice dropping. "Just a heads up, though. Your brothers are in the back. And they aren't alone."

Jess followed his gaze. In the corner, surrounded by a crowd of fawning omegas and aspiring warriors, sat Dominic Hale. He looked bored until his eyes found hers across the room. The air between them suddenly felt like it was charged with high-voltage electricity.

He stood up, ignoring the girl draped over his arm, and started walking toward her. Every wolf in the room went silent as the Alpha heir cut through the crowd like a shark through water.

"Jess," he said, his voice a low, possessive rumble.

"Dominic," she countered, her heart hammering against her ribs.

He reached out, his fingers brushing the new, sharp edge of her hair. "I told you. A queen."

But before she could respond, the front door burst open. Jonathan and Marcus stepped in, their eyes scanning the room. When they saw Dominic standing over their sister, their scents turned sharp and aggressive.

"Hale!" Jonathan roared, his knuckles cracking as he shifted partially, his claws peeking out. "Get your hands off my sister. Now!"

Dominic didn't flinch. He didn't even turn around. He just leaned closer to Jess, his breath hot against her ear. "Watch this."

"She's with me tonight, Whitman," Dominic said, finally turning to face her brothers, his eyes glowing a lethal, solid gold. "And if you want her back, you're going to have to go through me."

The room erupted into snarls. Jess looked at Dominic, then at her brothers. The "delicate" life she had known was officially over.

“Wes, just bite me or kiss me, but do something,” Jess whispered, her breath hitching as the bass from the speakers rattled the floorboards beneath her boots.

The lake house was a sweat-soaked den of shifting pheromones and cheap liquor. Wes—Ethan Cole to the rest of the pack—looked down at her, his pupils blown wide, nearly swallowing the hazel of his eyes. He wasn’t just a soccer player tonight; he was a predator wrestling with a leash.

“Your brothers will peel the skin from my bones, Jess,” Ethan rasped, his forehead dropping against hers. The heat coming off him was a physical weight. “Jonathan especially. He’s already got a scent lock on me from across the room.”

“Let him watch,” Jess said. She reached up, her fingers sliding into the hair at the nape of his neck, pulling him down that final inch.

Ethan broke.

His mouth crashed into hers, tasting of hops and raw, unrefined hunger. It wasn't the polished, practiced kiss of Michael Reynolds. This was messy. It was desperate. His tongue swept past her lips, claiming her mouth with a low groan that vibrated through her entire chest. Jess pushed her body flush against his, her small frame disappearing against the wall of his chest.

He didn't just hold her; he anchored her. One hand tangled in her new, short hair while the other slid down, his palm burning through the thin fabric of her dress until he reached the swell of her backside. He squeezed, hard, lifting her slightly off her feet.

“Fuck,” Ethan growled into her mouth. “I’ve wanted to do that since we were sixteen.”

“Then why didn’t you?” Jess gasped, her heart drumming a frantic rhythm against her ribs.

“Because Dominic Hale would’ve killed me before your brothers even got the chance.” Ethan pulled back just enough to look at her, his chest heaving. “He’s always had eyes on you, Jess. Even when he was halfway across the country, he was checking in. Making sure no one got too close.”

“Well, Dominic isn't here,” Jess lied, ignoring the way her skin prickled at the mention of the Alpha heir. “And I’m done being the untouchable Whitman sister.”

She grabbed the hem of his shirt, tugging it up. Ethan didn't need further encouragement. He spun her around, pinning her against the cool surface of the kitchen counter, his hands roaming over her hips with a frantic, messy energy.

“Up,” he commanded.

Jess hopped onto the counter, her legs wrapping around his waist. Ethan buried his face in the crook of her neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive cord of her throat. He wasn't marking her—not yet—but the threat was there, a delicious promise of belonging.

His hand slid up the inside of her thigh, his fingers ghosting over the edge of her panties. Jess let out a jagged moan, her head hitting the cabinet behind her. The noise of the party—the laughter, the crashing of beer pong cups, Emily’s high-pitched giggle—faded into a dull hum. There was only the heat of Ethan’s skin and the sharp, metallic tang of his arousal.

“You’re so tight,” Ethan panted, his fingers finally making contact with her slick center. “And you’re doing this to me. Just me.”

“Yes,” Jess sobbed, her fingers digging into his shoulders, her nails drawing thin white lines across his tanned skin. “Ethan, please.”

He fumbled with his belt, his movements jerky and ungraceful. He didn't have the cold, private restraint of Dominic. He was raw, a young wolf driven by instinct. When he finally freed himself, Jess gasped at the sight of him—heavy, dark, and pulsing with a life of its own.

He didn't waste time. He gripped her waist, his thumbs bruising the skin, and drove into her.

Jess’s scream was lost in the thumping bass of the music. He was thick, stretching her until she felt like she might break, but the pain was immediately swallowed by a wave of white-hot pleasure. He started to move, a fast, punishing rhythm that made the counter creak beneath them.

“You like that?” Ethan gasped, his eyes locked on hers. “You like a man who doesn’t ask permission?”

“Don't stop,” Jess cried, her legs tightening around him, her heels digging into his back.

He was relentless. He pounded into her, his sweat dripping onto her chest, the salt of their skin mixing as they slid against each other. It was messy, the sound of their bodies colliding a rhythmic, wet slapping that made Jess’s face flush with heat. Every thrust hit a spot that made her toes curl and her vision fracture.

The tension built, a coil of lightning tightening in her belly. Ethan’s pace became frantic, his breathing a series of ragged grunts. He reached down, his thumb finding the nub of her pleasure, working it in tandem with his thrusts.

“Dom,” Jess whispered, the name slipping out before she could catch it.

Ethan froze. The rhythm stopped. He stayed buried inside her, his muscles corded and shaking.

“What did you just say?” his voice was a low, dangerous snarl.

Jess’s eyes snapped open, the haze of pleasure clearing. “I—I didn't—”

“You called me his name.” Ethan pulled out of her with a wet pop, his face twisting with a mix of shock and betrayal. He stepped back, his chest heaving, his manhood still weeping and angry in the dim light. “You’re thinking about him. Even now. Even while I’m inside you.”

“Ethan, wait—”

“No wonder he was so pissed when he heard I was taking you to this party.” Ethan shoved his hair back, his hands shaking as he adjusted his clothes. “You’re still his. You’ve always been his. I was just the distraction.”

“That’s not true!” Jess scrambled off the counter, her dress bunched around her waist, her legs trembling so hard she had to lean on the sink for support. The aftermath of the sex—the stinging skin, the lingering warmth, the heavy weight of the air—felt like a physical hangover.

“Save it, Jess.” Ethan turned away, his voice cold. “Go find him. He’s probably waiting in the shadows anyway. He usually is.”

Ethan walked out of the kitchen without a backward glance, leaving Jess alone in the dark. She stood there, her breath coming in jagged hitches, the silence of the room louder than the party outside.

She reached for a paper towel, wiping the evidence of him from her thighs, her mind a chaotic storm. Why had she said his name? Why did the thought of Dominic Hale feel like a brand on her soul?

She walked back into the living room, trying to find Emily, trying to find a way out of her own head. But the crowd was parting.

A tall, broad-shouldered figure stood in the doorway, the light from the porch silhouetting a frame that made Ethan look like a child. The scent hit her before she even saw his face—sandalwood, rain, and the unmistakable, crushing power of an Alpha.

Dominic Hale didn't look at the party. He didn't look at the beer or the dancers. His eyes, glowing a fierce, predatory gold, locked onto Jess.

He didn't say a word. He didn't have to. He walked toward her, the crowd shrinking back as if he were carrying a literal flame. He stopped a foot away, his nostrils flaring as he caught the scent of Ethan on her.

Dominic’s jaw creaked as he ground his teeth, his knuckles turning a bloodless white. He reached out, his hand closing around her wrist with a grip that was both a rescue and a prison.

“We’re leaving,” he said, the sub-vocal vibration of his voice making her bones ache.

“I’m not going anywhere with you,” Jess snapped, though her pulse was betraying her.

“You are.” Dominic leaned down, his voice a lethal whisper intended only for her. “Because your brother Jonathan just walked into the basement, and he’s looking for the man who put his hands on you. Unless you want a corpse on your conscience, you’ll get in my car right fucking now.”

As if on cue, a roar of pure, animal rage echoed from below the floorboards.