I spun around, nearly bumping into the narrow chest of some man. He placed a hand against the front of the dress shirt he wore, drawing my attention to the rings speckled on his fingers. There were a few on his other hand, which clinked against the glass of alcohol in his hand.

There was a big part of me—and Maya that felt infuriated being called ‘little she-wolf.’ We were proud of our title, both of them. We had bled and fought to claim them both, even if they weren’t what we wanted at first. It went against my instincts to hide my position—especially to another werewolf.

“She’s good. I can get her whatever she needs, thanks.” I wouldn’t say I was relieved to hear Brandon’s voice, but it did make me feel better that I wouldn’t have to chase this guy off myself.

Unfortunately, whenever you mixed alcohol, anger issues, and copious amounts of testosterone, you were left with a person that couldn&rsq