33 Doses Later, the Alpha Begged for Forgiveness.
Lately, I’ve been waking up with wolf bite marks all over my body—different sizes, different depths, scattered like a brutal mosaic.
As a werewolf, I’m hypersensitive to the lunar cycle. Every shift in the moon, every ripple under my skin—I feel it all. No bite goes unnoticed.
Alpha Derek told me it was because I was special.
Said he couldn’t help himself—had to sink his teeth into me.
He called it instinct.
Said it was the Alpha’s natural urge to claim. Said it was love.
But I knew he was full of shit.
I studied the wounds. Closely. Carefully.
No two were the same. The shape of the jaw, the way the flesh had been torn—it didn’t add up.
I counted thirty-two.
Thirty-two bites.
From thirty-two different wolves.
This morning, I was walking down the hallway, holding iced coffees for the underclassmen, when I heard Lily’s bright, sugar-sweet laugh echo around the corner.
“Alpha Derek, haven’t you been a little too hard on Amy lately? I mean, yeah, she’s cold and she snapped at me, but you didn’t need to go that far just to defend me. If she ever finds out, she’s totally gonna come for you.”
Derek let out a low, guttural chuckle—pure wolf.
“Come for me? Please. What the fuck gives her the right? She’s just an Omega struttin’ around like she’s royalty just because she’s got seniority.”
He scoffed.
“Besides, that moonstone serum I whipped up? It erases her memory clean. She won’t remember a damn thing.”
Lily giggled, her voice soft and sweet as venom.
“You’re such a bad Alpha. I swear, I’m too nice sometimes. But honestly? Amy’s always walking around like she’s some untouchable Luna. Somebody needs to knock her back into pack order.”