Modric
The sting on my cheek burned hotter than any sparring blow I’d ever taken. Mary Ann’s hand had connected with surprising force, and for a split second, all I saw was red. Fury roared through me—fury at her defiance, at the way she’d quietly won over half the pack in days, at the way my own body betrayed me every time she was near. How dare she slap her Alpha?
I still had her wrist gripped tightly in my hand, her soft skin warm against my calloused palm. She stared up at me, eyes wide and glistening with hurt, her full chest rising and falling rapidly. Those generous curves pressed close now, her body soft and yielding where mine was hard with tension. The mate bond flared violently between us, that same electric spark from the wedding kiss exploding into something far more danger
