Prologue

XADIEL’s [POV]

Jasmines.

Sweet motherfucking jasmines.

The scent is soft in the wind, like a mystical calling, and I stop to take it in. The beast and I are entranced, needing to find this blooming scent with a small note of white musk that's awakened my cock while out on a moonlit run.

My claws dig into the forest floor, muzzle high in the air as a hungry rumble builds in my chest.

I'm alone. The animal in me is in control, and yet I'm conscious of his every move.

We're two beings who share a body and soul. He is me, and I am him.

Ears back, I listen for movement. There's a lake close to where I am, but before I give in to the hunt, another scent mingles with my night bloom. I let out a low warning growl, a deep and angry rumble that lets the guards on duty know I'm here. They know better than to come near me on a run like this one. My wolf is different than others and prefers his solitude while hunting; he's been hungry for the fresh taste of the wild game, but now another desire controls us.

My apologies, Alpha.

One of the guard's thoughts comes through the mind link before I sense them scurrying away, but I don't respond. Not when I take another step toward the sweet scent. When with each move forward my bones reshape. They crack and shift, forcing my black fur back as bones re-align and my tanned skin prickles with goose bumps.

I vibrate with a deep sense of yearning; one I've never encountered before in my ninety years walking this earth. It slams into me while the cooling mist left from an earlier rain shower caresses my naked flesh. Chest expanding, I take in deep breaths while my muscles contract—my fangs drop—and a new kind of desire settles on the tip of my thick cock.

Another step, and I feel a few beads of pre-come slip from the engorged head and onto the forest floor, leaving behind a trail from my moment of weakness.

I'm throbbing. My limbs tremble.

At seven feet, I'm a beast in my human form too.

We're on the west side of my land and away from the pack that lives near the castle, and yet, I'm finding myself jealous of anyone scenting the owner of this seducing perfume. This heady note is making me forget both my duty and the one purpose in my life I'm yet to fulfill.

I have a warlock to find. A protected queen to kill.

Their combined blood dripped from my muzzle to savor.

And yet, I'm more concerned at the moment with keeping this precious scent to myself.

Mine. All motherfucking mine.

Without conscious thought, I grip my length and stroke, never pausing in my search. It leads me about half a mile deeper into the woods and toward the edge of a clearing. The beast is present in my eyes; I feel his sharp awareness mingling with my own and if my prey were to turn around, she'd find golden eyes watching her every move. My heightened senses give me the honor of taking in the most minute details, from her skin to her hair and then the small beauty mark at the center of her back.

And motherfuck, little red is ethereal. Her lithe form is facing away from me while walking slowly onto the edge of a small lake surrounded by tall grass and wildflowers. Naked, and with the moon shining over her soft skin and highlighting the fiery shade of her tresses, she wades in deeper while emitting a soft sigh when the water comes up to the very tip of her round arse.

This woman is bloody perfection.

She's also made for me. There's no doubt about that.

My mate.

I've never searched for her but instead waited patiently. I've never touched another and never gave in to temptation because doing so would be a stain on us. On the bond we'd forge and nurture.

Instead, I trained and fought and protected my lands. A king is never in short supply of those willing to spread their legs, both women and men, trying to win favors for their house and name, but my people know better than to try with me. I'll always be faithful no matter the circumstance.

Moreover, I watch her with my fangs piercing my bottom lip and hips pumping against my hand without shame. Tightening my fist, I twist on the upstroke and then swipe my thumb across the slit, using the wetness there to fuck my hand.

I take in how she cups the water in her tiny hands and then brings them up, just high enough to flow down her neck and chest. Each rivulet glides over her bare flesh before disappearing beneath the calm waters, and I'm jealous of each drop. This happens a few more times, those fingers wiping across her chest and stomach before arching her back and stretching her arms high.

The breeze sweeps across us a little harder just as her head tips back, and that mouthwatering scent smacks into my senses with the force of a battering ram. My balls swell and I grind my teeth hard, fighting back the urge to come. Not until I'm inside of her. With that vow, I give myself another three punishing strokes and release my hold, hissing when the hard-as-steel flesh gives a violent jerk in the night air.

"My Little Moon," I groan out, stepping out from under the tree I'd paused under, but then she dips underneath the water. For sixty agonizing seconds, she submerges herself, but before I can rush in after her, she breaks through the surface, eyes closed and facing me.

Once again, the lake laps against her arse, gently swaying against her skin.

Every cell in my werewolf DNA expands and demands I accept her.

My beast vows to protect and cherish her.

I take in this beautiful woman from my position at the shore, memorizing every dip and sinuous curve from the wide set of her hips and flat stomach to the perky set of bigger-than-a-handful tits and their rosy tips. Her cunt is hidden beneath the water, just barely, but I catch the very top of her mound and lack of hair. Does she trim? Looking higher, I catalog the arch of her brows, and her cute nose, and then lower to where the cupid's bow of her plump cherry lips tempts me to bite them. Her.

Slowly, my feet cross into the warm water as this gorgeous creature spreads out her arms and hands, palms facing down, and begins tapping the surface to a synchronized song only she hears. Ripples become slow rolls until a turbulent swirl surrounds her lower half while words form in her mouth. Silently she sways a bit, and a sweet smile graces her lips while the water lights up from within. The rays change from stark white to a soft purple before turning a rich blue and carry through each sequence with gentle ease.

"No." My feet move me back a step and then another, dodging the tendrils of her power that unconsciously reach out for me. It's a caress. This entity with surging emotions recognizes me for what I am: hers. Her aura calls out for me to come closer—to touch it—but I do the opposite and sidestep its path while walking backward toward the tree that hid my presence. "Goddess, no." Anything but a sorceress.

As if it heard my thoughts, the current moves back as if stricken, and guilt settles deep within my gut. This goes against everything that I am—what wolves are taught since we're old enough to understand tradition, pack, and our history.

And while our souls host two entities that make up the whole, the man and wolf, we're not complete without our soul mate. I could never accept her or her kind.

My wolf snarls inside my head at that, angry at my refusal to grab our mate, but her nature is something I'll never accept. I'd take a fae, mermaid...fuck, a bloody vampire would've been hard, but I'd agree without a second of hesitation.

Her kind can never be trusted, no matter how utterly perfect I find her.

I could never accept that my mate comes from the same cloth as those who killed my mum.

Once again, the beast snarls, thrashing inside me, and my claws burst forth, hair sprouting across my limbs while the crack of bones breaks the silence. He's fighting me for control, something he's never done before—the animal and man are always in sync—but now he's furious.

Slamming a hand against the trunk of the tree, I sink my nails in deep and breathe through the forced mid-shift. Something only the men in my lineage have been able to accomplish; wolf shifters don't walk on two legs, much less forced like this. We let go of our control peacefully, to accommodate the other's needs, but never out of ire.

Stand down, I snarl in my mind while my spine curves, forcing me forward. I brace myself as the pain in my chest increases—tearing into the piece of earth with my black-tipped claws and my feet set wide apart.

I'm hurting us both. I know this.

Yet there's no other solution.

I will never love a—

"Son of a bitch." I'm forced to my knees by her essence. Those mystical vines that form who she is—and I've evaded—now have me at their mercy. It sweeps across my still-hard cock and strokes, sending electrical pulses from the tip to my heavy balls, and I can't do anything but grit my teeth.

Pleasure ripples through my every nerve ending; I'm at its mercy.

Another tight stroke and purrs start building inside my chest, the sound low and deep. I'm right on the cusp, my muscles tight and jaw clenched when I hear a gasp.

My eyes snap in her direction, and those clear baby blue eyes are my undoing; I come for her. Rope after rope of thick come spurts from the tip and onto the grass below, and all the while I count each rapid rise of her chest and the low moan she emits at the sight of her mate finding pleasure just a few feet away.

I'm not embarrassed by this.

Not one bloody bit.

Had her kind never killed my mum, I would've worshipped this naughty behavior. Rewarded her after a spanking, turning that perfect arse a nice shade of red. At once my hands clench with the need to touch her, mark her body.

Her queen killed my mother.

That sobering reminder hurts my wolf and relinquishes his attempt to break free. It also helps me retake my human skin and stand, my eyes on hers the entire time. Not that she tries to stop me.

There's a sadness in her eyes along with acceptance. As if she knows and will not fight me.

Something I appreciate and hate in the same breath. Anger brews within my veins. Her hurt is mine—I feel it deep within my essence—but it's impossible to cover the sun with one finger. I want to tear apart the universe and curse the goddess for the injustice, but nothing will change, and she'll pay for the crimes of the Wiccan royal court.

I'm sorry, Little Moon.

Slipping further into the shadows, I turn toward the trees but then stop. Her voice carries over the breeze, and hearing that sweet little tone is a gift.

"I, Isabella Moore, accept your position."