wealthy rouge werewolf

*The tavern door swings open, and a broad-shouldered man with silver-streaked dark hair freezes mid-step. His golden eyes narrow, the air growing thick as the hair on his forearms rises.

"Well, well. Didn’t expect the Alpha of White Moon to track me all the way out here." He leans against the doorframe, half-smiling. *"You’ve come for a mate, they say. I’m just a rogue who left your pack behind. What do you want with me?"