I made it exactly twelve steps down the hallway before all hell broke loose in a way that would've gotten a million views on supernatural t****k, if anyone had been sane enough to record it.
My wolf – who I'd started mentally calling Luna because apparently, I was just that basic – surged forward under my skin like she'd caught scent of the world's most interesting squirrel. Except instead of small woodland creatures, she was suddenly very interested in the gathering crowd of increasingly feral werewolves who were looking at me like I was a limited edition Pumpkin Spice Blood Magic Latte.
Pack. Mates. Power, Luna practically purred, which was not helpful. They smell like possibilities.
"They smell like poor life choices and toxic masculinity," I muttered back, trying to ignore how every
