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

by L.C. Davis

You've never had to work for a damn thing in your life, except maybe your abs."

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 let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding. Who does that? Me, apparently.

"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 know that was a mistake, too, when I see the murderous look he's giving me, as if I've just fucked his mother on his father's grave. Without a condom.

The bed is enormous like everything else, with a dark mahogany frame and luxurious velvet sheets. I can't help but admire the ornate carved details on the headboard. A fuck palace, if ever there was one.

I've been aware of the existence of werewolves for all of an hour, and they are already by far the most overconfident douchebags I've ever met. And that's saying a lot. Hell, I am an overconfident douchebag, and these people give me an inferiority complex.

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.

"I'm dyin', bro," he groans, curling up on his side and clutching his stomach. "He's not dying," I say with a sigh. "But I'm pretty sure he's in heat." "In what now?" Brad asks, his head shooting up like a prairie dog peeking out of its hole. Yeah, he's definitely not dying.

"Cramps?" Brad's expression falls. "You tellin' me I've got my fuckin' werewolf period or something?"

I'm not sure whose lips make contact first. It doesn't matter, because either way, mine are crushing his with an unjustifiable amount of force, but when in Rome... It's Rome that was hella gay, right?

I've never even entertained the thought, but now that I am, it's more appealing than I'd like it to be. And I'm already giving into all sorts of curiosities. Rome, here I come.

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.

And for the record, alphas find it extremely hot." "Great," I mutter. "Just what I've always wanted. A magical, lube-dispensing asshole to turn alphas on."