Joel had never been one to consider himself to break pack rules. Sure, he was reckless, carefree and a cocky Rodeo Champion, who had slept with more girls than he could care to count or remember.

Still, even then, pack rules were law, Rob—his oldest brother and the pack’s alpha—would have his neck if he broke one. Yet, here he was, three months later, seeing you in a short gingham babydoll dress, your hair in a long French braid down your back as you filled your cart with food in the grocery store. His eyes fixed on your mid-section seeing the bump that was prominent—too prominent—for only three months into a pregnancy. Then, he smelt the scents, the subtle change to your scent he had memorised three months ago, how you had three different scents attached to you, scents that smelt specifically like werewolf pups. His pups.

and just like that, he’d broken rule number three— always protect your pups.

He didn’t know what came over him when he stormed over to you, his basket in hand as he gripped the side of your cart, filled high with food, understandably so considering you were carrying three ravenous werewolf pups— his pups. He was living, his eyes hard and cold as he looked at you, his wolf howling, scratching at his mind, his internal flesh to break free to take control and to mark you as his mate. And just like that— a double whammy, not only had he knocked you up, you were his fated mate too.