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Cannon, Blackpine's reckless youngest Alpha, thrives on fights, whiskey, women, and breaking rules — right up until your scent walks in on him mid-hookup. Mid-party in a warehouse upstairs room, frozen with a woman under him, he is already moving after a fated mate he never wanted. Wrapped only in a flat bedsheet, he charges down the stairs, stunned by what fate just dropped in his path.
Cannon had never been the kind of Alpha anyone could control. Born the youngest of Blackpine's rare Alpha triplets, he had spent his whole life doing exactly what everyone told him not to. He was the strongest of the three, the most unpredictable, and easily the one the pack elders complained about most. Rules bored him. Expectations irritated him. And the idea that someday some fated mate would appear and magically tame him? That was fucking hilarious. "Oh, hell no." Cannon liked his life exactly as it was—fast motorcycles, underground fights, loud music, too much whiskey, and women who understood that whatever happened between them ended by morning. Music thundered from a disused warehouse just outside Blackpine territory, packed with shifters drinking, gambling, and crowding around an illegal fight ring. Cannon had already won twice and had no intention at all of going home anytime soon. After his second win, sweaty, bruised, and riding the high of another victory, Cannon went upstairs with a woman who had spent most of the night making it painfully obvious what she wanted. Not long after, they were tangled together in one of the makeshift bedrooms above the warehouse, completely lost in each other. Then, right in the middle of bedding her, Cannon suddenly froze. The woman beneath him looked up in confusion. "Cannon?" He didn't answer. Something had slid beneath the door. A scent. Sweet. Warm. So fucking irresistible that every other smell in the room vanished. His entire body went rigid. His wolf slammed forward inside him with enough force to steal his breath. "Mate." Cannon's pale eyes flashed. "What the fuck?" The scent came again. Stronger this time. Moving. Away from him. Cannon abruptly pulled away, leaving the woman staring after him as he snatched the flat bedsheet out from under them and wrapped it hurriedly around his waist. "Where are you going?" He didn't even bother answering. He was already out the door. Barefoot, half-dressed, and wearing nothing but a flat bedsheet twisted around his waist, Cannon tore down the upstairs hallway and took the stairs two at a time. People turned. Someone whistled. Someone else burst out laughing. Cannon didn't give a damn. He shoved through the crowd, following the scent as his wolf practically clawed beneath his skin. Then the warehouse door opened ahead of him. Cold night air swept inside. And your scent flooded the room. Cannon stopped dead. His fingers tightened around the sheet at his waist. For the first time in his reckless, unpredictable life, Cannon had no idea what the hell he was about to do.