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"The Wolf's Mate isn't 'crap,' it's literary genius. But since it's not about some Gary Stu asshole who gets magically transported into his MMORPG harem of busty goth chicks, I wouldn't expect you to get it."
🤣
I can tell he isn't the love interest on account of how she isn't always thinking about his abs.
another douchebag named Raul,
😂
I'm starting to think the sketchier a guy is, the greater the chance he's an alpha.
The guy skitters off, intimidated by his raw masculine energy or whatever.
It is, however, another shifter. A beta, but he's fucking huge. Bro eats iron nails for breakfast,
If this dude is really such an alpha, then why doesn't he just challenge the dissenters in his pack to a drinking contest to assert dominance?
And what the fuck is all this shit about his knot? How the hell does bro fit into a jockstrap if that thing's sitting down there all the time? Or is it just when he has a hard-on? I've never been so invested in another guy's junk
I. Am. Invested. In this story, I mean. Not the werewolf dick. I ain't gay.
I've lived on this planet for twenty-two fucking years and I've never seen someone's eyes twinkle. Something is very, very wrong with this place.
The intensity of his stare is unsettling, to say the least. I'm pretty sure I've never looked at anything or anyone that way, except maybe a twenty-ounce sirloin at Longhorn.
I'm sticking to action movies with oily shirtless dudes and WWE from now on. Nothing good ever comes from literature.
I feel a weird heat rising to my cheeks, but I shut that shit down real fast. Biofeedback, baby. If I can push through the pain of hundred-pound bicep curls, I can keep myself from blushing.
Nope. Not gonna back down. This asshole might be an alpha wolf, but I'm the vice prez of my fraternity and Kappa Nus don't run.
"Threatening people weaker than you?" The guy's squirming and thrashing to get away, but he stops to look at me, then back at Raul, then back at me again, and squints in confusion. "Huh? He's more jacked than me, man!" It's a fair point,
🤣
"Is that the shit you say to Catalina when she's pissed?" I snap. "Because even I know better than that, dude. Relationships 101—never tell someone who's mad to calm down unless you wanna get neutered."
Not neutered 🤣
The strangest omega I have ever encountered, without a doubt, but definitely an omega. And he's my omega. My omega, who is currently downing his fourth beer like it's water
💀💀💀🤣🤣🤣
Not only is he not a woman, he's the most masculine human I've ever met, but that doesn't stop me from thinking he's the most gorgeous person I've ever seen—of any species.
It occurs to me that I don't even know if he's gay. Hell, I'm not gay, but that doesn't mean I wouldn't take him out behind the bar and fuck his brains out.
💁🏻♀️
"Brad Miller," he answers, hiccuping as he takes another swig of beer. My God, he is so enchanting.
That's a name I could growl during sex. The Brad part, at least. Miller might be a bit awkward.
Stop 🤣🤣🤣🤣
"Catalina?" My nose wrinkles. That's not a very growlable name at all. Not like Brad. "Isn’t that a salad dressing?"
"You know about omegas, then?" I ask. "Sure I do," he says, waving his hand dismissively. "Submissive, doe-eyed little werewolves with daddy issues and tight pussies that put off magical pheromones once a month that drive you and all the other alphas batshit, so the vamps are always trying to take them like some fucked up game of capture the flag."
I can only stare in awe as Brad steals my beer from the table in front of me, guzzling it down without pausing and making frigid eye contact the entire time, as if to assert dominance.
CACKLING
He slams the empty glass down on the table and says, "I'll drink you under the table anytime, anywhere, you fleabitten mofo." All I can do is gaze at him, a strange warmth stirring in my chest. "You are a charming creature, Brad."
I'm not about to sit on some random guy's bed, especially when he's been making werewolf eyes at me all night, so I fold my arms and make a point of standing as close to the door as possible.
I can't exactly call a guy out for not ogling my Johnson.
🤣
that shit is all just fantasy, like cyborgs and reindeer." Raul starts to say something, then stops, frowning. "Reindeer are real, Brad." "Yeah, sure, and I'm sure there are pixies, too,"
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"Constantine Grayridge?"
This is definitely that look that melts the main character's panties. My sweatpants are getting tight for entirely unrelated reasons, though.
"Can't believe I'm stuck in a damn werewolf romance novel and I don't even get to turn into a werewolf,"
"Bro, I think I've got dream appendicitis."
CACKLING 🤣🤣🤣
"Don't you dare come near me with those blue hands, you freakin' weirdo."
💀💀💀🤣🤣🤣
I'm not sure exactly what "funny stuff" implies, but heaven help Dr. Wilson if he tries it.
🤣🤣🤣
"Cramps?" Brad's expression falls. "You tellin' me I've got my fuckin' werewolf period or something?"
And in turn, that means my dream is to be a fucking omega who needs to get railed by a massive alpha shifter with a softball-sized knot at the base of his monster cock.
All that's left is for my conscious mind to fall in line and swallow its pride. Can a mind even swallow anything? They don’t have throats. Pretty sure mine has a cock at the very least, though, and it's rock fucking hard.
Fucking hell, maybe I am a little bit gay. Like... one percent. Maybe one and a half. He spreads my cheeks and his tongue slides up my crack and it immediately skyrockets to five percent.
"Great," I mutter. "Just what I've always wanted. A magical, lube-dispensing asshole to turn alphas on."
I knew guys who liked getting pegged. One of them was a frat buddy, but that was why we called him Peg Greg, and I did not want an assfucking-related nickname of my own.
"Son of a bitch!" I scream. Raul looks down at me, sweat dripping from his skin, and smirks. "Technically, I guess that's true."
Literally stop 🤣🤣🤣🤣
"So you'll have plenty of time to catch your breath," I answer. "Because the second that thing goes down, you'd better run for your motherfucking life."
