I rescued three dying wolf pups, raised them into men, gave them names, and even gave them my last name.
But once they grew up, they took turns crawling into my bed every night—and while I lay too exhausted to move, they discussed how much further they could push me before I finally handed them over to my beautiful, adored sister.
They thought I would never have the courage to give up all three.
So I did exactly that.
In exchange, my sister gave me her celibate weresnake—a cold, dangerous man who refused to let anyone touch him and was supposedly incapable of desire.
She warned me that he could never be tamed.
But the moment the door closed behind us, his pupils narrowed into slits, and his icy tail snapped around my waist, dragging me against his chest.
During the day, he barely spoke to me.
At night, he slipped beneath my blankets, coiling his tail from my ankle to my waist and locking me against him until morning.
I thought he only wanted my body heat.
Then his lips brushed my ear, and he whispered,
“Love me, Master.”
And that was when the three werewolves who had thrown me away began coming back—one by one—begging me to take them home.
