The Tyrant Alpha's Rejected Mate (Five Packs, #1)
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I have been woken up in the middle of the night by the chanting of males sentenced to run the patrol routes because they didn’t work hard enough or lost to an unworthy opponent—or, on one memorable occasion because a male farted in the weight room and no one would confess. One, two, three, four. Crack a window or a door. Five, six, seven, eight. Take a dump then lift the weights.
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Tender and new, yes, but when I reach out, Killian’s there. All of him. Like I’m a glass bottom boat in his brain. I don’t think he’s entirely aware. If he was, he’d hide some stuff.