Muscles burned, pushing him, stretching his levels of endurance. Calan was strong. He had to be because his pursuer was just as cunning, just as swift. And the wolf was gaining ground. As a wolf in his prime, Calan was a hunter, of age for a female mate and a defender of his territory. However, Calan didn’t want a territory, didn’t want a bitch to mount. Calan ached for the forceful domination of another Alpha. Blood rushed through his veins, the thrumming of his pulse keeping rhythm with the pounding of paws against soft soil. He was on Channing land, rushing through the scrub and rocky terrain. This wasn’t his territory, but he wasn’t the only one trespassing. The wolf on his heels was gaining. Calan dug in, pushed harder. He was fast—the other wolf was faster. A growl echoed through the forest and seeped into him. Lust coiled in his gut. His cock was swelling, pheromones saturating the air.
