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A bit obvious, isn’t it? Theron questioned.
Does it matter? She’s trying to lure us out. Let her think it’s working, then snag her when she least expects it, I replied.
A straightforward plan is usually best, Silas seconded.
Fine, agreed, Theron said.
Agreed, Bowen added.
I broke through the brush and headed toward the river. Myla’s wolf turned to me, making no effort to run or come closer. My wolf yipped at her, tail high, trying to entice her to play as we advanced. She snorted, tilting her narrow muzzle to the sky.
It looked like the little she-wolf wasn’t impressed.
In a burst of movement, I closed the distance between us, forcing her to rear back and twist at the last second. Before she could escape, Bowen’s wolf appeared, lunging for her. She leaped into the air, using her hind legs to push off his face and propel her in the other direction, but Theron’s wolf was on her in seconds.
He tackled her to the ground, and Silas joined the fray. Their limbs tangled and twisted as they playfully pinned her wiggling body until she submitted.
Our wolves yipped as she teasingly snapped her teeth. She pushed off the ground and rubbed against our flanks as we circled each other.
My wolf nuzzled our mate. Our instincts pulled us toward her, and the certainty that she was ours overwhelmed us. It sparked like a live wire, moving over our skin and urging us to take what was rightfully ours.
Myla’s wolf nudged my wolf’s chest. Her scent drifted up our nose, sweet, caramelized, and . . .
I sniffed again, my confusion and desire skyrocketing as the faint scent of her heat clouded my senses. My wolf growled.
Our bond pulled taut, each of us focusing on the changing state of the female before us.
Her wolf whimpered, spinning in a tight circle and licking our muzzles in encouragement.
We need to shift back, Silas said. He recognized the danger of Myla entering her heat while we were in our wolf forms.
With our wolves in charge, it would be easier to fall into a rut. They would take control and surrender to our baser instincts until Myla was claimed and the bond solidified.
Myla shifted back with us, eyes wild and cheeks flushed.
She yelped and sank her teeth into her lip. She clutched her abdomen, and the perfume of her heat spread like a fog. My body reacted at once.
“Fuck,” Bowen said, scrubbing his hand down his face. “Come on. We need to get you home before—”
A sound between a whimper and a moan cut him off. Sweat beaded along Myla’s forehead, and her skin was flushed as if she’d spent too much time in the sun.
“I don’t think I’m going to make it,” she said.
“You will,” I said, gritting my teeth against my own need. “I’ll carry you back to the den, and we’ll get you all squared away.”
“No,” she growled.
“No?” Theron parroted.
“This is just going to keep happening, and even with the heat suppressants, it’s only going to get worse.” She paused, considering her words.
She wasn’t suggesting . . . was she?
“Help me,” she said, her tone resolute. “Claim me, please.”
Silas gaped at her. “Are you—”
“Please,” she cried, interrupting him. “Please. It’s so hot. My body is burning.”
