Varg was panting in those godforsaken wild forests of Alberta, the warmth of fresh blood staining his claws. The Alpha-red in his eyes glowed like a demon over the massive deer sprawled across the snow. He was about to sink his teeth into the prey's throat, to silence that uncontrollable rage with blood. His muscles were taut; his wolf was howling in victory within his mind.
But it wasn't enough. No amount of blood could satisfy the hunger created by the void on that tiny woman's unmarked neck.
At that exact moment, he jolted as if an icy hand had ripped through his ribcage and gripped his heart.
Varg froze, hunched over the deer. His claws sank deep into the snow. A savage snarl rose from his throat; it wasn't the cry of a hunter, it was a shriek of that same old fucking pain seeping into his soul. The air shifted instantly. The sharp, pine-scented frost of the mountain vanished; an impossible scent brushed against his nose. Orange and cinnamon.
