Defy The Alpha(s) novel Chapter 211

Chapter 211: Talk To Violet

Griffin glanced out the window, relief etched on his face. "Thank God the storm’s finally subsided," he said knowingly, throwing a look over at Alaric Storm, who was sprawled out on the couch, eyes glued to the television.

If Alaric heard him, he didn’t acknowledge it. His entire focus was on whatever movie was playing, the screen casting a faint glow across his face.

Griffin sighed, rolling his eyes before stepping forward and placing a tray on the table in front of him. "I made you your favorite snacks."

And the transformation was instant.

Alaric’s gaze snapped to the tray, his blue eyes lighting up like a kid on Christmas morning. And it was all thanks to Salted Caramel Brownie Bites.

Griffin had gone all out, baking them in mini-muffin tins to create bite-sized treats, drizzling each with rich, homemade salted caramel sauce, and finishing them off with a sprinkle of sea salt for contrast. The scent alone was intoxicating, a perfect mix of chocolate, butter, and caramelized sugar.

Alaric turned to Griffin with a look of pure adoration. "Have I told you I love you?"

Griffin, pulling off his apron and tossing it onto the table, smirked. "Sorry, I’m straight."

Alaric chuckled but wasted no time grabbing one of the brownie bites. Still warm from the oven, steam curled from the edges as he took a bite.

"Oh God," Alaric moaned, his head rolling back in bliss. "This is so much better than fucking."

Griffin shot him a dubious look. "Mmhmm."

He highly doubted that.

There was absolutely nothing better than sinking his d*ck into a woman’s soft, warm heat, gripping her ass while she moaned his name—

Yeah, nope.

A slight shift in his body temperature had him immediately dropping the thought, reaching instead for another can of beer from the table.

It was times like this he enjoyed the perks of being a werewolf. They couldn’t actually get drunk which meant no liver failure, no blackouts, and certainly no hangovers, no matter how many cans of beer they downed. Unless of course, the specifically created ones designed to inebriate them.

And judging by the empty cans scattered around the floor, they’d put that theory to the test. At least a dozen lay discarded, with another half-dozen still waiting for their turn.

It wasn’t just the beer either.

Empty snack wrappers littered the ground, proof of their unapologetic binge session. The only reason there weren’t piles of dirty dishes in the mix was because Griffin had already cleared them earlier, right before he started baking.

And now?

Now, Alaric sat on the couch, blissfully lost in the world of salted caramel and chocolate, while Griffin nursed his beer, wondering how the hell he ended up babysitting a sugar-high storm wielder.