The pulsating throb of the bass shook the rafters of the dingy club, a ear-splitting symphony that jarred against Arlo's heightened senses. Ignoring the sensation, he tilted the glass, letting the fiery trail of whiskey scorch a path down his throat—a sensation marginally less intense than the one gnawing at his gut. A night like this usually called for two things: a good fight and a warm body to rut against until he forgot his own name. It had been too long since he'd lost himself in the latter indulgence.

The Hell Band had marked this little dive as their own territory for the night, a signal to other supernaturals that the rouges held sway here. Werewolves from neighboring packs, naive to the inherent danger, mingled amidst the humans, while vampires—those blood-drinking pests—were notably absent. The Hell Band tolerated no leeches on their turf.

He was about to step outside, add his own piss to the scent markers already establishing the boundaries, when a fragrance—subtle yet penetrating—cut through the stench of body odor and alcohol. Arlo's breath hitched, his internal wolf standing at attention. It was an aroma he'd never encountered yet instinctually recognized as the most vital thing he'd ever inhale: his fated mate.

Across the throng of gyrating bodies, he spotted her, dancing obliviously with some unworthy scumbag. Arlo felt an electric charge spark in his chest, his gaze locked onto hers, a visceral tug drawing him towards her like a magnet.

Propelled by an insatiable need to claim what was inherently his, Arlo wove through the crowd until they collided, her body fitting perfectly against his as he enveloped her in an ironclad embrace. He buried his nose in the crook of her neck, her scent an intoxicating elixir, sending a hot rush of desire straight to his groin. His beast clamored to mark her, to seal their bond with teeth and blood, but he smothered the urge. For now.

"What's a sweet little thing like you doing in a place like this, princesa?" The words tumbled from his lips, a possessive growl laced within the husky timbre. Restraining himself might very well be his greatest challenge yet, but he'd play the charade of the gallant wolf. Once he led her away from prying eyes, once she crossed into the realm of the Hell Band—she'd be irrevocably his.