CHAPTER ONE
Stephanie Benson crossed her legs at the knees and folded her arms over her chest.
Nope. Bad idea .
Pressing her arms over her chest squashed her breasts together and made her already prominent cleavage protrude even more over the front of her V-neck tank. Short of wearing a turtleneck, she knew she’d never meet anyone’s standard for demureness, but she did at least try to keep people’s first impressions of her neutral. When she’d set out on her traveling expedition for the wolf mate call, she’d dressed as she always did for a trip. After turning in the key for her rented painting studio, she’d put on her favorite jeans, sparkly sandals, and a flowing, sage green tank top that brought out the evil in her eyes. At least, that was what her ex had always said. She’d worn it anyway, because it was her favorite. Soft and luxurious, the fabric’s silken caress of her skin made her feel like a goddess whenever she wore it.
Now, she was about to become a goddess with freckled, sunburnt cleavage, and certainly, the only one of her kind.
For fuck’s sake—they’re all waifs.
She looked at the three women sharing the bench with her and barely managed to suppress the hysterical laughter quaking her lungs. Werewolves, in their human forms, tended to be a bit fitter when compared to the human population, due to their faster metabolisms and higher activity levels. Stephanie, though, took after her human mother in the tits and ass department, and nothing in Stephanie’s wolf genetics could offset it.
Up until she’d been given the or else ultimatum at age sixteen and pulled into her father’s pack, she’d loved her body. Loved her burgeoning curves and swells, and looked forward to being a jaw-dropping vixen like her mother one day. But during the summer she’d turned sixteen, she presented herself to her father’s pack at his alpha’s order, and the wolves there—well, they were so different. They didn’t look like real people. They were comic book characters made of flesh and bone, and she didn’t fit anywhere within the pages of their stories.
The women sharing the bench with her now were typical enough, but Stephanie couldn’t help but to notice whose thighs took up the most real estate. Those women were probably all full wolf. Stephanie’s half-breed status could very well be another strike against her. She already had enough flaws that would turn off a mate.
The alpha, Adam Carbone—now her alpha—was coordinating the mate matching. He stood in front of her and made an assessing grunt.
She sighed. “Go ahead and tell me about myself, Alpha.”
“Hey, don’t get your hackles up, red lady. Your energy’s not reading as whole wolf.”
Her hand went reflexively up to tuck back the swatch of ginger hair covering the side of her face, and though her posture was already acceptably upright, she sat up a little straighter. “I didn’t know it was possible to discern that.”
“It isn’t for most folks, but I’m Alpha.”
“My alpha never mentioned being able to tell the difference, and he would have.” He would have grabbed at any opportunity to tear her down just out of nasty spite. For the life of her, she never could figure out what she’d ever done to deserve it. She didn’t ask to be in the pack. She’d been perfectly content with her very human life in Chicago with her mother.
Alpha worked his jaw from side to side for a few beats before giving her one of those slow, knowing nods that were usually followed by some words that she didn’t want to hear.
“Not everyone who has the job should ,” he said.
Huh.
She’d always thought that, but it was better that he said it than her. Coming out of her mouth, the statement might have been considered treasonous. She was no longer a part of her old pack, but until she’d been fully accepted into her new one—paired with a man and received his bite—she needed to tread carefully. If she wanted a wolf for a mate, she
Stephanie Benson crossed her legs at the knees and folded her arms over her chest.
Nope. Bad idea .
Pressing her arms over her chest squashed her breasts together and made her already prominent cleavage protrude even more over the front of her V-neck tank. Short of wearing a turtleneck, she knew she’d never meet anyone’s standard for demureness, but she did at least try to keep people’s first impressions of her neutral. When she’d set out on her traveling expedition for the wolf mate call, she’d dressed as she always did for a trip. After turning in the key for her rented painting studio, she’d put on her favorite jeans, sparkly sandals, and a flowing, sage green tank top that brought out the evil in her eyes. At least, that was what her ex had always said. She’d worn it anyway, because it was her favorite. Soft and luxurious, the fabric’s silken caress of her skin made her feel like a goddess whenever she wore it.
Now, she was about to become a goddess with freckled, sunburnt cleavage, and certainly, the only one of her kind.
For fuck’s sake—they’re all waifs.
She looked at the three women sharing the bench with her and barely managed to suppress the hysterical laughter quaking her lungs. Werewolves, in their human forms, tended to be a bit fitter when compared to the human population, due to their faster metabolisms and higher activity levels. Stephanie, though, took after her human mother in the tits and ass department, and nothing in Stephanie’s wolf genetics could offset it.
Up until she’d been given the or else ultimatum at age sixteen and pulled into her father’s pack, she’d loved her body. Loved her burgeoning curves and swells, and looked forward to being a jaw-dropping vixen like her mother one day. But during the summer she’d turned sixteen, she presented herself to her father’s pack at his alpha’s order, and the wolves there—well, they were so different. They didn’t look like real people. They were comic book characters made of flesh and bone, and she didn’t fit anywhere within the pages of their stories.
The women sharing the bench with her now were typical enough, but Stephanie couldn’t help but to notice whose thighs took up the most real estate. Those women were probably all full wolf. Stephanie’s half-breed status could very well be another strike against her. She already had enough flaws that would turn off a mate.
The alpha, Adam Carbone—now her alpha—was coordinating the mate matching. He stood in front of her and made an assessing grunt.
She sighed. “Go ahead and tell me about myself, Alpha.”
“Hey, don’t get your hackles up, red lady. Your energy’s not reading as whole wolf.”
Her hand went reflexively up to tuck back the swatch of ginger hair covering the side of her face, and though her posture was already acceptably upright, she sat up a little straighter. “I didn’t know it was possible to discern that.”
“It isn’t for most folks, but I’m Alpha.”
“My alpha never mentioned being able to tell the difference, and he would have.” He would have grabbed at any opportunity to tear her down just out of nasty spite. For the life of her, she never could figure out what she’d ever done to deserve it. She didn’t ask to be in the pack. She’d been perfectly content with her very human life in Chicago with her mother.
Alpha worked his jaw from side to side for a few beats before giving her one of those slow, knowing nods that were usually followed by some words that she didn’t want to hear.
“Not everyone who has the job should ,” he said.
Huh.
She’d always thought that, but it was better that he said it than her. Coming out of her mouth, the statement might have been considered treasonous. She was no longer a part of her old pack, but until she’d been fully accepted into her new one—paired with a man and received his bite—she needed to tread carefully. If she wanted a wolf for a mate, she
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