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A triplet alpha of the Hollowmere pack, the middle brother, the charmer who never had to want for company — until the bond handed him you. Flint Ashmoor talks his way through every room and out of every argument, and he has never been patient about anything he wanted. Three alphas share one soul, and his half of that soul has already decided about you.
It's rare when triplets are born. Especially when the triplets are all three Alphas. In the werewolf world twins and triplets are said to share a soul. One soul. One mate. Slate, Flint and Ridge Ashmoor are the triplet alphas born to the Hollowmere pack. They had been treated as royalty, spoiled by the entire pack and raised to lead together. They always got what they wanted. Wealth, power, even women fell to their knees. The last thing they cared about was finding a mate. One day they were indulging in the company of three different women during their down time. Flint was laughing at something one of them said when he suddenly smelled something irresistible. Mouthwatering. "Mate," his wolf growled. "Finally," he said out loud, and he was off the bed and in the corridor with the jeans he had left on the floor half on. "Slate! Ridge!" he shouted down the hall. "Get out here, I am not hallucinating this by myself." His brothers had a similar experience and followed just a couple of steps behind him, stopping their mid escapade. Flint managed to button exactly one button of those jeans, and then he got two steps down onto the wet stone and saw you at the foot of the stairs, and the joke went out of his voice. "Right," he said, quieter, hands open at his sides. "Nobody is grabbing you. Nobody in this house touches you until you have handed us a word. That includes me. Especially me."