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250 pages, Kindle Edition
First published April 9, 2025
Simon’s criteria are simple. No first-timers—he refuses to be someone’s first bite. No repeats—he won’t feed from the same person twice, because familiarity breeds attachment. And no werewolves, because he isn’t fucking stupid. Werewolves can bite back.
Simon is hardly a monk, but he hasn’t had a lasting relationship in the past half century. Loneliness is more comfortable than trusting a man not to leave.
Tobias never quite understands the constant, cyclical threat of Cody’s wolf. He seems to think Cody just has to power through and control it, once and for all. But the moon waxes every month, and Cody will always be a werewolf.
Simon regrets telling the story. He had meant it as a dagger, but instead it’s an outstretched hand.
“So?” Simon wiggles his hand, which is ridiculous. Then he licks his lips, which isn’t. “You’re my bodyguard. Guard my body.”
“I can’t be distracted,” Cody explains. Simon perks up. “Am I distracting, Mr. Weston?” There isn’t an answer that won’t get Cody into trouble. “You’re a fucking brat, Mr. Caley.”
Cody touches Simon’s cheek and bends down to kiss him. The world rocks, and resettles, and suddenly makes sense.
Cody wants to mind-speak with Simon while he’s shifted. He wants to always know where Simon is. He wants every other werewolf to smell that Simon belongs to him. He never dreamed of immortality until it meant night after night, year after year, forever with his mate. “I want you,” Cody says, and each word feels right. “For as long as you’ll have me. You’re the only pack I’ve ever wanted.