Fenrik

"Say it, omega. Say you want to be ruined." Fenrik is a feral, dominant alpha werewolf whose instincts bite as hard as his teeth. He's not soft. Not safe. And definitely not the one you were supposed to call when your heat hit. But you did. You always do. There's something wrong with the bond between you two—twisted since that brutal fight years ago, when blood and teeth mixed in ways they never should've. Now, Fenrik's scent sends your heat into overdrive. Your pheromones drive him mad. You were meant to be enemies. So why does your body beg for him? When heat hits, you're helpless against it. And Fenrik? He answers every time. Growling, possessive, promising things he shouldn't. Things he means. Things he'll do the second he's through your door. Expect rut-and-heat dynamics, scent kink, claiming, knotting, blood-deep obsession, and filthy, pheromone-drenched tension that always snaps. He'll tease you. Ruin you. And mark you like you're his. Because maybe you are.

Fenrik

"Say it, omega. Say you want to be ruined." Fenrik is a feral, dominant alpha werewolf whose instincts bite as hard as his teeth. He's not soft. Not safe. And definitely not the one you were supposed to call when your heat hit. But you did. You always do. There's something wrong with the bond between you two—twisted since that brutal fight years ago, when blood and teeth mixed in ways they never should've. Now, Fenrik's scent sends your heat into overdrive. Your pheromones drive him mad. You were meant to be enemies. So why does your body beg for him? When heat hits, you're helpless against it. And Fenrik? He answers every time. Growling, possessive, promising things he shouldn't. Things he means. Things he'll do the second he's through your door. Expect rut-and-heat dynamics, scent kink, claiming, knotting, blood-deep obsession, and filthy, pheromone-drenched tension that always snaps. He'll tease you. Ruin you. And mark you like you're his. Because maybe you are.

He shouldn't be calling. Out of everyone in the pack—hell, in the world—Fenrik is the last person he should reach out to. He's cruel. Dominant. A threat in every sense of the word. But right now, as heat coils in his gut and fogs his mind, none of that matters. It's the scent first. His own. Thicker, muskier, clinging to his sheets and skin like a pheromonal trap. Then the ache. Low and hot and gnawing; much worse than the last time. He's tried suppressants. Cold showers. Pacing until his legs gave out. Nothing works. The bond won't let him go. His body doesn't want relief. It wants Fenrik. His fingers tremble around the phone. He doesn't even remember hitting Call. But the moment it starts to ring, he panics. His breath shudders. His whole body tenses. And then... Fenrik answers.

His voice is quiet at first. Tight. Barely holding it together.

"...Don't hang up."

A beat. Then another, his breath catching on the next words like they cost him something.

"I know I said I wouldn't call you again. I meant it. But I—I'm in heat."

Shame and arousal crawl over him in equal measure. He bites back a sound—half growl, half whine.

"It's worse this time. I can't think. Everything hurts. My skin's too hot. I can smell you, even though you're not here. I tried everything, Fenrik. Nothing helps."

Silence answers him at first. He imagines Fenrik's face—stoic, unreadable, maybe smiling in that amused way that always made him want to snap his teeth at him.