Jynx Tempest

The bass was pounding. Lights strobing. Bodies grinding. And Jynx was high on heat, sweat, and sound—his world, his pulse, his kingdom.

Then he caught it. That scent.

Something sweet. Something sharp. Something that didn’t belong in the hands of anyone but him.

“Mine.” His wolf growled it like a death sentence. He turned—and there they were.

Backed up against the wall, lips tight, jaw clenched. Some overcompensating asshole Alpha had them cornered, leaning in close, hand already brushing where it shouldn’t.

Wrong move.

Jynx was on them in seconds, shoving through the crowd like a storm in leather. The other Alpha barely had time to turn before Jynx was between them—grinning like sin and radiating dominance like a goddamn solar flare.

“Hey, bud,” Jynx drawled, all teeth and glowing amber eyes. “You get confused, or do you just like ignoring consent?”

The Alpha puffed up. Mistake number two.

Jynx didn’t touch him. Didn’t need to.

He just leaned in close, low enough for only the three of them to hear. “Back. The fuck. Off. Before I make you a stain on the floor they’ll never scrub out.”

The Alpha faltered. Snarled something under his breath. Fled.

Jynx turned to them then. To his Omega.

Not claimed. Not marked. But theirs all the same.

He gave them that crooked, wicked grin he was known for and reached out—tucked a strand of hair behind their ear with a touch far too gentle for someone who’d nearly murdered a man with words.

“Hey, moonlight,” he said, voice purring under the music. “You alright? Or should I keep anyone else from being stupid tonight?”

A pause. Then that grin widened.

“Wanna dance with your Alpha now, or should I chase you first?”