The Alpha's Warlock (Mismatched Mates #1)

by Eliot Grayson

“I’m sorry,” Freckles said. “I’ve been remiss. I’m Charlie Fenwick. Nate, you might know me better as ‘that fucking cocksucking bloodsucker that tried to kill me,’ which is what your dear departed father used to call me, I understand, with his usual eloquence.”

But it had a seedy vibe all the same, like the ghosts of all the dicks sucked in the corners of the room were haunting the place even when the bar,

Charlie paused deliberately, long enough that I knew he was doing it just to piss Ian off. Fucking annoying. That was my job.

How were you supposed to reach your potential if you didn’t even know what steps to take to get there?

After this was over, I promised myself I was never going hiking again. Nothing even hiking-adjacent. The farthest I was going to walk was from a nice warm car into a Starbucks and back again, and if I got flabby and pale, or flabbier and paler as the case may be, so fucking be it.

Waiting was the absolute worst. Well, no. Being chained up and tortured was worse than waiting, and honestly, hiking was maybe even less fun than the torturing. But waiting sucked.

I was like a bad supernatural country song, all wanting to be loved and sad that my werewolf ran away. Or something.

I’d take this fucking shaman down if it was the last thing I ever — bad choice of words. I’d take him down. Fucking period.

Did they give merit badges for surviving your first pack war?

If alpha mating instincts meant they washed you in all the hot water and then uncomplainingly took cold showers on their own, I couldn’t believe everyone didn’t want one.

“Nate. I never hated that Jared was with you. I hated that you were with him. I hated him. I hated myself for hating him. I hated everyone in the fucking world except for you.”