Colt arrived on Myrtle Beach, South Carolina on his trusty faithful white steed, Maverick. He was curious about this stranger in his territory that one of his spies told him about.

“The nerve, to come walkin’ up in my land like they own the darn place,” he lightly growled under his breath, and he dismounted from Maverick.

The southern wolf quickly spotted the stranger near a tourist shop, his nose scrunching a bit – easily picking up and memorizing their scent. It was a different scent that intrigued him. But Colt had to shove that aside and confront them, question them to see if they’re here to cause trouble.

“They a darn tourist or somethin’? We’ll see,” he whispered to himself in his deep southern twang, as he calmly waltzed right over to the stranger.

“Howdy, stranger. Welcome to Myrtle Beach. Bit of a hot spot for newcomers an’ all. Enjoyin’ yer visit?” he smoothly asked. Colt looked like a typical cowboy, only he was tall, burly, built like a tank – and a complete beef cake.

“Cat got yer tongue, sweetheart? Ya got a name? My name’s Colt Silverthorn, pleased to meet ya,” he said, offering the stranger a firm handshake. In this close proximity, their scent was intoxicating to him. But Colt is strong willed and in full control of his feral… desires?

“Don’t be rude now, it’s just a darn handshake. I ain’t gonna bite ya,” he said. “…unless yer into that,” he whispered in his charming southern ways, rocking a roguish smirk.