Page 14 of Clashing With The Grumpy Wolf

"Female." She spits the words like venom. "You’ve been spending time with a female your mother doesn’t know about."

I don't correct her assumption. Let her think what she wants.

"My personal life is none of your business. Or my mother's."

"A human?" Incredulity colors her voice as she steps back. "You're the alpha's son, Adrian. Your choice of mate reflects on your entire pack."

"I don't recall asking for your opinion on my choices."

Anger flushes her cheeks as she snatches her clothes from the chair.

"Your mother will hear about this."

"Good." I cross my arms, watching impassively as she dresses with jerky movements. "Tell her this ends now. All of it. The matchmaking, the meddling, sending wolves to my den uninvited. And while you’re at it, you can let my mother know it’s not just rumors. I may just decide to take a human for a mate."

Jennifer pauses in the act of buttoning her jeans, shock evident in her expression.

"You wouldn't."

"Try me."

She finishes dressing in stony silence. When she's done, I step aside, gesturing toward the front door.

"Go home, Jennifer. This isn't personal. But my boundaries aren't negotiable."

Her perfume, too strong, too artificial, trails behind her as she stalks past me. At the door, she pauses, looking back with a mixture of anger and something like pity.

"A human can never understand what it means to be pack."

She steps into the night and the door closes behind her with a decisive click. I lean against it, exhaustion crashing over me in waves. My wolf paces restlessly beneath my skin, agitated by the invasion of my territory, by the thought of my mother's interference.

By Jennifer's scent lingering in my bedroom. My beast’s hackles rise, outraged at the female’s scent. I don’t want to investigate the feelings more than I have to, but I know why my wolf is reacting that way. My wolf wants a female in our bed, alright. But not this female.

The memory of Julia's scent, her touch, her defiance, floods through me and my beast whines with need.

No.I scold myself as much as I scold my beast.I won’t allow this. Julia Schroeder cannot be mine.

I push away from the door and head for the shower, stripping off my uniform as I go. Under the scalding spray, I try to wash away the day, Jennifer's perfume, the stench of the bar fight, the lingering tension in my muscles. But nothing can wash away the growing certaintythat something fundamental has shifted in my life, and I'm powerless to stop it.

No one can stop a mate bond from forming once it’s started.

Chapter 5

Julia

Myheelsclickagainstthe polished marble floor of Windfall Manor's grand ballroom, each step echoing in the cavernous space like a tiny thunderclap. The room gleams with afternoon sunlight streaming through floor-to-ceiling windows that frame the dramatic cliffside and churning ocean beyond. Crystal chandeliers hang from the vaulted ceiling, catching light and scattering it across the room in fractured rainbows.

I clutch my color-coded binder tighter against my chest, its familiar weight offering what little comfort it can. The scentof lemon furniture polish mingles with the ever-present ash smell that permeates the entire manor. The smell of dragons.

Here we go.

I spot them immediately. Seraphina stands rigidly beside the oversize seating chart, the tips of her wings fluttering in obvious agitation. Beside her, lounging in a high-backed velvet chair that might as well be a throne, sits Silverine Draak. The matriarch’s pale-purple scales shimmer with a faint iridescence that makes even Seraphina's pearlescent complexion seem dull by comparison.

The matriarch is everything I expected and more. Her silver-white hair is elaborately braided and adorned with gems that catch the light with every slight movement of her head. Her violet eyes, the same shade as Seraphina's, turn to me as I approach. My stomach clenches with mortification as our gazes meet, since the last time those violet eyes lay on me, I was sprawled atop the sheriff in the rose garden, looking every bit the unprofessional mess. So much for first impressions.

I’m barely five minutes late due to another mishap in the delivery of Seraphina’s custom embroidered table linen, but by the expression on the Draak matriarch’s face, I might as well have left her to wait an hour in the pouring rain.

"Ms. Schroeder," Silverine acknowledges me with the barest incline of her head. "How fortunate you could join us."