This mate crap was for the birds, not wolves. Saint slipped his hand around my waist, lifting until his palm touched against my throat. His other hand was slowly sliding down to my sex that clenched and begged him to fill it with his essence. The savage wolf within me didn't understand or even care that he intended to hurt us and leave us in a heap of destroyed ruins. Saint jerked my body back, chuckling as a moan bubbled up, escaping my lips.

"Tell me this isn't for me," he urged, ...