My fists clench painfully, claws tearing into the skin of my palms as I watch Christian Anderson and my wife paw at each other, kissing with the passion of star-crossed lovers. Scalding hot jealousy scorches through me as I track the movement of another male’s hands on my wife’s body, all the way up her bare thigh. I leave her alone for one second, and she finds a way back to the bastard who’s actively trying to ruin her life and shoves her tongue down his throat. I shouldn’t be surprised or bothered by this. I don’t even like her.
But my rage—my wolf’s rage—soars higher, seeking retribution, and I feel the need to break something. To hurt someone. I need an outlet, or I’ll give in to the thirst for blood that’s currently making my teeth ache.
Perhaps she meant it when she told me she wa
