Alpha Jackson Reynolds
The air in the Alpha suite felt thick with residual magic, the faint scent of mountain jasmine and starlight lingering beneath the heavy, musky fragrance of the claimed mate. The urgency of war hadn't faded, but the chaos had. Now, it was replaced by a deep, unwavering certainty. Jack and I moved with synchronized purpose, our motions flowing from a single, unified will—a direct result of the Goddess's blessing and the sealed bond.
Dressing was a quiet ritual, steeped in mutual awareness. Jack’s senses, amplified tenfold, seemed to track every movement I made. As he buttoned his crisp white Alpha shirt, I watched the healing Alpha mark—a deep, perfect crescent—on his neck. It was dark red and potent against his skin, a symbol of my White Wolf claim.
“Don’t stare,
