Mated To The Possessive Wolf Admiral

The biological heat wave was a firestorm in his veins.

Evander knelt on the cold alloy floor of the isolation chamber, his body a warzone. His hands, knuckles white, dug into the metallic surface as if trying to anchor himself to reality.

A guttural sound, more beast than man, tore from his throat.

He forced his head up, his vision blurred and stained red at the edges. The vital signs on the wall-mounted monitor were a screaming crimson blur.

HEART RATE: CRITICAL. ADRENAL OUTPUT: LETHAL.

The sterile, mechanical voice of the AI unit, T518, echoed the visual alarm. The sound grated on his raw nerves, pulling another ragged snarl from his chest.

He had to get to the suppressant.

He lunged for the small metal table across the room, where a single dose of high-concentration inhibitor waited. But a violent spasm seized his muscles. His arm, intended to grab the vial, instead sent the entire table flying.

It crashed against the far wall with a deafening shriek of tortured metal.

The glass vial shattered. The blue liquid within hissed as it evaporated instantly on the floor.

Gone.

A wave of pure, black despair washed over him. Evander closed his eyes, bracing for the final loss of self.

With a series of heavy, percussive thuds, four-inch-thick titanium bolts slammed into place, sealing the chamber. The system had judged him too dangerous. All external access was severed.

His breathing became a harsh, rasping pant. The bones in his fingers began to shift, his nails elongating, scraping against the floor with a sound like knives on stone.

Just as the last vestiges of his humanity were about to be swallowed by the tide, a sound broke the suffocating silence.

A faint click.

It came from the corner of the room, from a black supply crate marked with the highest level of military secrecy.

In the dead quiet of the chamber, the sound was a gunshot. Evander's ears, suddenly hypersensitive, twitched. The primal territorial instinct of the beast inside him fought back the hormonal flood, demanding he identify the intruder.

The external pressure lock on the crate hissed, releasing a plume of white, cryogenic gas that swirled around its base, chilling the air.

Evander's body coiled, his center of gravity lowering. He was a predator poised to strike, his blood-red eyes fixed on the box.

The lid wasn't blown off. It was pushed open.

By a hand.

A slender, pale hand with long, graceful fingers. A hand utterly devoid of the calluses and scars of a soldier.

The sight shattered Evander's combat-honed expectations.

A woman sat up from inside the crate. Her long, dark hair cascaded over her shoulders like a waterfall of ink. She rubbed her temples, a slight frown on her face as if trying to shake off the dizzying effects of a spatial jump.

The cold air hit her lungs, and she coughed. A soft, delicate sound.

The sound made the coiled muscles in Evander's back go rigid.

She opened her