His Trouble Maker

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

JESSICA

I have a confession to make.

I think the Alpha hates me.

No–despises me. That might be the right term because there is absolutely no logical reason why I am standing here, simply existing, doing nothing, and yet somehow, he still finds a reason to kill me with those goddamn eyes.

Like, come on? Really?

But if there’s one thing I’ve learned in my seventeen years within the Blackmoor Pack, it’s that Gray Westwood never stares at me without a reason. Or maybe–just maybe–those eyes were made to fuck me and ruin me all at once.

“Uh–oh,” Logan mutters beside me. “What did you do this time, Jes?”

“What?” I scoff, crossing my arms. “I exist. That’s usually enough.”

Logan hums, eyes flicking toward the other side of the yard. Every pack member is expected to train, to fight, to serve. That’s why after class, we’re mandated to come here.

PO

“Mm. That so? Because Gray Westwood is looking at you like he either wants to fight you or-”

“Or what?”

His grin turns wicked. “Or fuck you against a wall.”

My stomach drops.

“Shut up.” I glare at him. “He hates me.”

“Hates you?” Logan smirks. “Or wants you?”

Oh, gods. Not this again. I roll my eyes, but it doesn’t shake the feeling.

watches you like you personally offended his ancestors?” He

If anything, he wants me

snickers. “Okay, but

I cut him

tilts his head, voice dropping lower, “pinning you against a wall, all muscle and command,

he tilts his head, voice slipping into something dangerous, “pinning

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Chapter 1

freeze. My

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the image forms. Gray pressing me against the cold stone. His body heat licking at my skin. His fingers fisting in my hair,

the thought away so fast it feels

No. Absolutely not.

snap my head toward Logan, scowling so hard I swear the

“Oh my gods, you did just picture

shove him. Hard. He just laughs harder, stumbling back a

spine. My skin is too tight, my pulse too wild because of what I freaking imagined. I push my hair behind my ear, letting

“Is that so, Jess?”

down my spine, smooth as silk, sharp as fangs. My lips part, and very slowly, I turn–only to find Gray Westwood standing in front of me,

just across

Oh, fuck.

breath on my skin. He leans in, voice low and dangerously amused. “Didn’t think you had a preference, Jess.” His voice is low, casual–dangerously amused. “Beasts over

put some space between us. But I can still feel his breath on my neck. “I–l..Did..you hear

flare. Before I can process it, his hand moves–fast, decisive– his fingers move fast, curling around my wrist before

sharply, pulse slamming against my

forward. Until–heat. My palm presses against something firm. Hard. My breath catches as I glance down, realization crashing over me. His abdomen. Warm, sculpted

Moon Goddess.

exhales, slow and controlled. His grip flexes over my wrist, like he’s waiting. Watching. Drinking in my reaction. My core

No. Fuck. No.

wrist. His own

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