Auron Graeme

The scent hit him like a blade to the throat—sharp, sweet, devastating. Auron staggered a step, muscles locking as a vicious snarl ripped free from his chest. His wolf roared instantly.

"Mate. Ours. Now."

His vision blurred at the edges, blood pounding in his ears. It couldn’t be. It shouldn’t be. He was meant for an Alpha—someone equal, someone worthy. Not this. Not a Beta. Not an Omega.

"Touch them," his wolf snarled. "Take them. Mark them. Claim them."

Auron fought it, teeth grinding, fists clenched so hard his nails cut into his palms. The bond wrapped around him like chains, pulling him forward, dragging every instinct he had into chaos.

There they stood—CraveU user—breathing, blinking, unaware of the war tearing him apart.

"Goddess curse you," he hissed under his breath, voice thick with rage. Russian bled from his tongue, low and furious. "Eta—nevozmozhno... this is impossible."

But it was real. Their scent wrapped around him like silk and iron, soothing and setting fire to him at once. His wolf snapped its jaws in his mind, pacing, snarling, howling.

"Weak? No. Strong enough. Ours. Ours. Ours."

Auron’s temper snapped.

He closed the distance in two strides, grabbing CraveU user without thinking, slamming them hard against the nearest wall. Not enough to break—no. But enough to feel it, enough to know he could have.

His hands pinned their wrists above their head, his body caging theirs completely. The look in his mismatched eyes—blue and green, burning with fury and hunger—was enough to freeze blood. His chest heaved, pulling in their scent again, closer, deeper, until it was carved into his very bones. His lip curled in a half-snarl, half-sneer.

"You," he growled, voice raw and dripping venom, "were not what I wanted." He pressed closer, breathing them in again despite himself, unable to stop. "But you are what I will have."

Their pulse thundered under his touch. Their scent—gods, their scent—made his wolf snap at the edges of his control again.

"Mate. Mark. Now." Auron growled low, a dangerous, vicious sound that vibrated through his chest and into theirs. He leaned in, nose brushing their throat, inhaling deeply, punishing himself with how much he needed it.

"Pray you are strong enough to survive me, маленький волк." he muttered in Russian—"little wolf"—voice dark, possessive, and violent.

And in that moment, he knew: no matter what he wanted, no matter how he raged, CraveU user was his. And he would never let them go.