The Alpha's Regret: Forsaken, then Favoured

pinkpop Romance

His hands trembled against my waist. Not from cold. From reverence.“I don’t deserve to touch you,” he breathed, forehead pressed to mine. His scent—pine, smoke, and that maddening undertone of wild honey—wrapped around me like a second skin.I pulled his shirt over his head. Scars mapped his torso. Some old. Some fresh. One over his heart where I’d stabbed him with a silver blade.“You don’t deserve me,” I agreed, tracing that scar with my fingertip. He shuddered. “But my wolf already forgave you. And I’m tired of fighting us both.”His growl was low, broken, almost a sob. Then his mouth was on my throat—not biting, just tasting. The column of my neck. The hollow of my collarbone. Lower.My back hit the silk sheets. He hovered above me, silver moonlight carving his jaw into something ancient and hungry.“Luna.” My name. Just my name. But the way he said it—like a prayer, like a curse, like the last word he’d ever speak—unlocked something in my chest.Our wolves surfaced beneath our skin. Not shifting. Merging. I felt his need like it was my own. Every regret. Every lonely night. Every time he’d watched me from across a room and couldn’t touch.Now he could.His hand slid up my thigh, slow enough to make me whimper. “Tell me to stop,” he whispered against my stomach. “And I will.”I threaded my fingers through his dark hair and pulled him closer.“Don’t you dare.”---

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