Rory Blackfang was a werewolf on the brink of implosion, his body and mind hijacked by a primal force that refused to quit. After the diner disaster, where a coffee spill had seared his groin like a branding iron, he was a walking catastrophe. His sentient erection—Red, the snarling, untamed wolf within—was a pulsating, veiny juggernaut, its scarlet shaft so rigid it felt like it could shatter stone. The redwood, as Rory grimly called it, radiated molten heat, its hypersensitive skin screaming at every scrape of his jeans, now slick with precum that turned each step into a slick, torturous betrayal. His heart thundered, sweat plastered his dark hair to his brow, and his amber eyes darted like a trapped animal's, desperate for escape. Red's growl roared in his mind: CLAIM. HER.
The pack legend about a destined mate clawed at him, whispering that this torment might mean this woman—her cedar scent, her husky laugh—was his fated match. The thought was a grenade of hope and dread, because she didn't smell like a wolf.
Hoping to drown Red's rebellion, Rory staggered to the pack's training ground, where sparring sessions roared with feral intensity. Worst. Idea. Ever. The field was a maelstrom of grunting werewolves, their bodies slamming together, the air thick with sweat and musk. The rhythmic thud-thud of fists on pads synced with Red's pulsing, each impact a lightning bolt through his groin that made his knees buckle. The redwood's veiny surface shrieked at the denim's friction, a cruel dance of agony and forbidden pleasure that had him clenching his fists until his nails drew blood. A trickle of precum sent a jolt of panic through him, and he hunched forward, praying the bulge wasn't a neon sign. "By the moon's sweaty, cursed paws," he hissed, his breath jagged, "I'm in the ninth circle of hell."
Then came Talon, a cocky alpha invited from another whose smirk could curdle blood. "What's wrong, Blackfang? Got a boulder in your pants?" he taunted, circling Rory with gloves raised, his blue eyes gleaming with malice. "Or is it that new girl, that sexy human, messing with your head?" Rory's face burned, Red throbbing in defiance as Talon's jab hit too close. "Saw you're sweet on her," Talon sneered, leaning in. "Too bad she's got my attention now. Watch me sweep her off her feet." Jealousy ignited, a white-hot spike in Rory's gut, and Red roared MINE!, making his hips twitch so violently he nearly toppled. He swung a wild punch, missing Talon by a mile, and stumbled, the redwood's jolt of pain-pleasure nearly flooring him. "Just warming up!" he lied, voice cracking as packmates snickered.
Luna, his assistant and usual ray of sunshine, watched from the sidelines, her face a storm cloud. She'd been tracking Rory's every glance at the human since the festival, and now his flushed, distracted state screamed obsession. Her eyes narrowed as the human cheered a packmate's takedown across the field, her dark hair glowing in the sun, her pet ferret nibbling a carrot on her shoulder. Luna's jealousy boiled over, her usual warmth replaced by a sharp edge. She grabbed Rory's arm, pulling him aside mid-spar. "You're making an idiot of yourself over that human," she snapped, her voice low and venomous. "Sage isn't one of us, Rory. Human-wolf hybrids are weak—sickly, useless to the pack. You're one of our pillars, our strength. Don't throw it all away for some fleeting crush." Her words were a blade, but her eyes betrayed a deeper wound—jealousy, raw and aching, at the thought of Rory choosing Sage over her. She'd always been his right hand, his confidante, and now this human was stealing his gaze. "She's not worth it," Luna hissed, her voice trembling. "You deserve a real wolf." Red snarled MATE!, and Rory's gut twisted, the legend clashing with Luna's warning as Sage's green eyes met his, sparking a surge in the redwood that made his vision blur.
The sparring was pure torture—every dodge, every grapple amplified the fire in his groin, Talon's smug taunts and Luna's jealous glares a double assault. Sage's husky laugh from the sidelines was music to his ears, sending jolts through Rory's core. Luna's eyes tracked him like a hawk, her jaw tight as she barked orders at the trainees, her usual cheer drowned in resentment. Unable to endure another second, Rory faked a sprain and bolted, his gait a lurching dance of desperation, Luna's voice echoing: *Human. Weak. Don't.*
He fled to a hidden hot spring, its steam curling like a lover's whisper, the water's gentle lap a promise of relief. "Thank the moon," he panted, shucking his boots and tearing off his shirt, the cool air a fleeting balm on his fevered skin. The redwood was a throbbing, scarlet beast, its veiny surface so sensitive that the breeze felt like a tongue, igniting shivers that buckled his knees. He waded in, the warm water enveloping his thighs, and gripped himself, the contact sparking pleasure so raw his vision swam. Red growled, urging him to surrender, to let the wildness consume him. Images of Sage—her smirk, her curves, her cedar scent—flooded his mind, clashing with Luna's jealous warning about hybrids. His civilized self teetered, the mate legend a pulse in his chest—until a voice sliced through the steam.
"Rory, right?" Sage stood at the spring's edge, her damp tank top clinging to her curves, her green eyes wide with surprise. "Didn't know this was your spot," she said, her husky laugh making Red pulse so violently Rory nearly sank. "Mind if I join?" Before he could choke out a response, she kicked off her boots, her movements fluid and maddeningly sensual. Rory's brain short-circuited, the redwood a molten rod as Sage waded in, the water lapping at her hips. Her cedar scent hit like a drug, and Red roared MATE!, drowning his restraint. "Bad… timing," he croaked, backing away, but Sage grinned, splashing him playfully. The droplets hit his chest, each a spark that made his hips buck, the redwood's throbbing a drumbeat of agony and desire. Their eyes locked, and for a heartbeat, Rory felt the legend's pull, Sage's gaze holding something unspoken—until a screech shattered the moment. "Rory Blackfang! This is a public spring!" Mrs. Howlsworth stormed in, knitting bag swinging, a gaggle of elders in tow. "No indecency!" Rory dove behind a rock, face burning as Red pulsed mockingly, the fleeting pleasure of Sage's proximity crushed by humiliation. Sage's laugh rang out, half-amused, half-curious, as she slipped away, leaving Rory cursing the cosmos.
By nightfall, Rory was a sweaty, trembling wreck, ready to howl at existence itself. The pack's bonfire kickoff roared at the festival site, firelight dancing on laughing faces, the air thick with woodsmoke and drums. Rory slunk to a log, hoping to vanish, but Red was relentless. The redwood was a pulsating, veiny tyrant, its scarlet hue a cruel contrast to his pale thighs, the jeans' friction a torture that made his breath hitch. Every trigger—the fire's crackle, the drum's thump, Sage's laugh across the clearing—sent jolts through him, Red screaming CLAIM HER!. Talon was at Sage's side, his arm brushing hers as he offered a drink, his smirk a dagger in Rory's gut. Luna hovered nearby, her eyes a storm of jealousy, her jaw tight as she watched Rory watch Sage. "You're pathetic," she hissed, cornering him. "Chasing a human when you could have a wolf like me." Her voice cracked, raw with envy, her hand brushing his arm possessively before she stormed off, leaving Rory reeling.
The final straw came when Luna, her jealousy a live wire, dragged Rory into a pack dance, shoving a tambourine into his hands. "Act like a leader, Blackfang!" she snapped, her cheer a brittle mask, her eyes flicking to Sage, who was laughing with Talon. The tambourine's jingle synced with Red's throbbing, each shake a jolt that made Rory's hips buck involuntarily. Sage's gaze met his, sparkling with warmth, and his heart raced—until Talon twirled her into the dance, his hand on her waist, his laugh grating. Luna's grip on Rory's arm tightened, her voice a venomous whisper. "She's human, Rory. She'll never be yours. Let Talon have her—weaken his blood." Jealousy and Red's primal rage erupted, and Rory snapped. "ENOUGH!" he roared, hurling the tambourine into the fire, the jangle silenced by a burst of sparks. The crowd froze, Luna's eyes flashing with bitter triumph, Talon's smirk victorious. Rory's face burned, Red pulsing as he realized he'd lost it publicly. Sage pushed past Talon, her hand grazing Rory's arm. "You okay?" she murmured, her cedar scent dizzying, her eyes holding concern and something deeper.
Rory's breath caught, his body a battlefield of arousal, rage, and longing. Red's growl was deafening, the mate legend a weight on his soul. Was Sage his destiny, human or not? Or was Red driving him to ruin? As the bonfire crackled and Sage's touch lingered, Luna's jealous glare and Talon's smug grin burning into him, Rory knew he was one spark away from snapping—or finding his heart's home. The night wasn't over, but Rory Blackfang was dangerously close to breaking.