I was eighteen. He was over two hundred years old. I was an inexperienced vampire exploring Eastern Europe by myself. Banner was the king of the Scottish Lycans. He was huge. I was small. And he wouldn't take no for an answer. Talk about a forbidden, age-gap romance. Our meeting had been nothing short of happenstance, luck of the draw, a strike of fate, or one of the many other things people say when you meet the one person meant to be yours and yours alone. But we were meant to be together. Fated mates by destiny. Maybe I should have fought the attraction. Maybe I should have played hard to get. Especially when my Lycan mate was so big and burly, growly and an over-the-top alpha? But where was the fun in that?