Tangled

7 Lucas: Gala (III)

[WARNING: Mature content.]

LUCAS

My wolf howls in triumph as I stalk after the little blonde, keeping to the shadows of the garden. She’s oblivious to my presence, her attention focused on the phone in her hand. The glow of the screen illuminates her face, casting a soft light over her delicate features. I can see the reflection of its screen in her glasses, and find myself disappointed that the colors obscure those striking eyes of hers.

As I draw closer, I catch a whiff of her scent on the breeze. Honey and vanilla, with a hint of something else. Something that calls to me on a primal level. My wolf is practically salivating, urging me to close the distance between us and claim what’s mine. She must

not be my mate–my wolf would know at first scent- but she’s definitely something special.

I watch as she taps at her phone with a sense of urgency. A rideshare app, from the looks of it. Is she

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trying to leave?

The thought sends a surge of possessiveness through me. Like hell I’m going to let her slip away now that I’ve found her.

I move quickly, closing the distance between us in a few long strides. She doesn’t even have time to react before I yank at her arm, spinning her around to pull her against my chest, wrapping one arm around her waist. My hand settles possessively there, gently stroking at the dip before her hips begin to flare. Her skin is warm and tantalizing, even through the soft

fabric.

“Where do you think you’re going, little wolf?” I

murmur, my lips brushing against the shell of her ear.

She stiffens in my arms, and my wolf does not like that. “Let me go,” she demands, but there’s a tremor in her

that belies

and dark. “Now why would I do that? I’ve been watching

to get a look at my face. “Who are

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Westwood, alpha of the Westwood pack.” I dip my head, nuzzling against the crook of her neck. Her scent is even stronger here, and

me.”

here. Don’t wait.

of her neck, and I swear her scent is even stronger there. Giving in to temptation, I lick it in a long, slow swathe of

It has been standing

me,” she whispers, and I growl my displeasure at her words. But her hands, tiny delicate little things, with curious little fingers, slide up my chest. She’s

her. Rut her. The

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to twinkle in agreement. Either that, or I’m delusional from every drag I take off this woman’s skin. At some point, my hands had crawled of their own accord down her

again, this time in approval, and she melts

1. me.

scar on her neck. In the dim light, I

on her shoulder that seems to be covered

put on their faces. It makes my wolf howl in fury, and I brush my fingers over

rubbing her pelvis against the tops of my thighs. Fuck, she’s tiny, even in those fuck–me heels she’s wearing. They have

inches to

pull back. Be a gentleman. Introduce myself

her neck.

slide my hands under her pert ass to lift her until the

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welcoming behind the barrier of her panties. I can feel it through my pants, especially when

squeezes.