His Trouble Maker
Chapter 1
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.
way he watches you like you personally offended his ancestors?”
snort. “Yeah, no. If
snickers. “Okay, but
I cut him
he tilts his head, voice dropping lower, “pinning you
his head, voice slipping into something dangerous, “pinning you
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Chapter 1
My
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me against the cold stone. His body heat licking at my skin. His fingers fisting in my
rip the thought away so fast
No. Absolutely not.
snap my head toward Logan, scowling so hard I swear
my gods, you did just
him.
up my spine. My skin is too tight, my pulse too wild because of what I
“Is that so, Jess?”
smooth as silk, sharp as fangs. My lips part, and very slowly, I turn–only to find Gray Westwood standing in front of me, his
just across
Oh, fuck.
low and dangerously amused. “Didn’t think you had a preference, Jess.” His voice is
some space between us. But I
I can process it, his hand moves–fast, decisive– his fingers move fast, curling around
inhale sharply, pulse slamming against my
palm presses against something firm. Hard. My breath catches as I
Moon Goddess.
grip flexes over my wrist, like he’s
No. Fuck. No.
wrist. His own
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