Bro and the Beast (The Wolf's Mate, #1)

by L.C. Davis

That's my reality, and yeah, I'm okay with escaping it once in a while to live in a better one. One where love is real, and it's okay to be different, and everything works out okay in the end. If you wanna judge me for that, fine."

It figures shifters would have alphas, given their proximity to real wolves and all that, but I'm pretty sure omega wolves are supposed to be at the bottom of the hierarchy. The way they talk about them in this book, they're just… bottoms. In a very different context.

I'm starting to think the sketchier a guy is, the greater the chance he's an alpha.

It's like I'm watching a movie in my head, and despite the fact that this bitch keeps making supremely stupid decisions that make me wonder if it's her first time outside of the house, I can't bring myself to stop.

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?

I mean, she has to have come across other werewolves since she's been on the road. You'd think they’d notice she has magical werewolf pussy if it's so fucking irresistible that this alpha douchebag can't keep his hands off her just because she's in heat all of a sudden, because of his pheromones or whatever.

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. Am. Invested. In this story, I mean. Not the werewolf dick. I ain't gay. Not that there's anything wrong with being gay. I'm just not. I mean, I like watching movies about aliens invading Earth, but that doesn't mean I wanna stick my dick in a little green man. Or woman. But if I did, it would definitely be alien pussy. Not alien dick. Unless it's on a chick.

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.

If I can push through the pain of hundred-pound bicep curls, I can keep myself from blushing.

This asshole might be an alpha wolf, but I'm the vice prez of my fraternity and Kappa Nus don't run.

"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."

"Brad Miller," he answers, hiccuping as he takes another swig of beer. My God, he is so enchanting.

"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."

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."

A fuck palace, if ever there was one.

All I can think as I black out is how I'd better wake up in my own world, or at least one where I can be a space pirate or something cool. This omega thing is absolute, complete fucking bullshit.

"Reindeer are real, Brad." "Yeah, sure, and I'm sure there are pixies, too," I say with a wave of my hand. "We've already established your world is fucked up."

"Bro. Are you saying I'm so hot I turned you gay?"

Ugh, fuck this heat shit with a rusty dildo.

"I'm good," I say, holding my tongue because I'm way too fucking close to asking if he wants to fill my prescription for dick. And that's not even the kind of thing Catalina would say, so it's not like I can blame that on whatever kind of book magic is tormenting me.

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."