Alpha Domination (Alpha Wolf Book 1) Read online

  “Don’t be getting all antsy on me. You do as I say.”

  “Why should I?”

  “I’m an alpha and–”

  “Fuck you, Nathan.” The words are out of my mouth before I realise I’m saying them. He looks across at me, a mixture of surprise and disbelief smothering his face. I turn to glare out of the window. “You can’t tell me what to do.”

  “This is my territory, Georgie, dahlin. I can tell you to do what the fuck I please and you will do it.”

  “You can’t make me.”

  “I’ll come down on you like a tonne of bricks. You won’t know what’s hit you. I’ll make you submit to me like the grovelling new mutt you are.” I turn to look at him. His words are laced with warning, but my thoughts of him coming down on me are clearly different to his.

  “If that’s your sexiest bedroom talk then no wonder Hattie drugs you to shag you.”

  Surprise crosses his face once more, followed by silent rage. He kicks up the speed a little bit, angrily ignoring my jab. I want to push him again, but the sensible part of me knows it won’t help matters. Instead, I change tack.

  “Why are we going to a bar?”

  “Hattie,” his tongue seems to stick on her name after my previous comment, “said the newspaper suggested you met someone just before you were bitten. I thought we’d check out the bar in case he’s there.” He glances at me. His expression has cooled to a marble impasse. “It’s highly likely he’s the one that bit you. And most werewolves like to scope out the local competition when they try to take over new territory.”

  Images of the poacher conjure in my mind. A flutter of panic rises behind my breastbone. I clearly wasn’t dressed as just a look out. A sparkly halter hardly said anonymous in the corner.

  Fuck. Nathaniel really was going to use me as bait, too?

  I think of the poacher and the unsettling feeling he’d evoked in me. Seeing him again isn’t high on my bucket list. I’m tempted to distract Nathan from finding him. It would be a great plan if it didn’t mean I became less useful. And less useful meant surplus to his needs.

  Would he really kill me as he’d implied? So far, everything he’d said could be jotted down as bravado. Though, that wouldn’t explain why he had an ankle cuff attached to a chain in his basement.

  I glance across at him, absorbing the calm way he tilts the steering wheel and his utterly relaxed figure. His apparent tranquillity both reassures and worries me. He doesn’t know what he’ll face in this other werewolf, but he seems completely unperturbed.

  The natural scent of him is crisp in the cold air of the car. It twists around me, causing my temperature to rise. My gaze works down his chest and lower until I’m admiring the strength and suppleness of his legs. I wonder exactly how strong they are. Strong enough to support the weight of a woman wrapped around him?

  “Have I dropped something?”

  “Huh?”

  He looks across at me. “You were staring.”

  “Just thinking,” I mutter, shifting in my seat. Suddenly the pickup feels stuffy and uncomfortable. The silky stockings slip against the worn leather cushion as I move. Nathaniel’s gaze strays, once more, to the flash of my thigh.

  He said male werewolves were affected by females in an animalistic way. Perhaps he means that we release pheromones like canines do when they’re in heat. The fabric of the skirt smooths below my hand. Considering myself as a dog in season is not something I ever thought I’d be doing. And I seriously don’t like the idea.

  The pickup comes to a halt. We’re on the edges of a local town. The street is lit dimly but the only tyre tracks in the snow are ours. We’re stopped outside a small bar, just like he promised. There’s a glow of light and heat coming from the windows. An old fella comes out to smoke on what Americans’ seem to refer to as a ‘stoop’.

  Nathan turns the ignition off.

  “What will you do if he’s in there?” I ask quietly.

  The night casts my partner’s face into a sexy shadow. When he speaks, the rough tones of his voice tremble my spine in an erotic way, forcing me to wonder if I’m getting cabin fever. Especially considering his words. “Kill him.”

  “For biting me?”

  He shrugs. “For biting you. For being on my territory.” His eyes glint in the dark. He’s clearly a little excited underneath it all. “I have to send a message to any assholes that think they can do the same.”

  “But when I was chased, there was more than just one wolf. So, he might not be alone.”

  His hand comes to rest unexpectedly on my thigh. The heat burns. A small sliver of skin is bare between the top of the hold up and the skirt hem and I can feel the pulse in his palm radiating there. For a weak moment, I will him to rush his hand under the fabric and kiss me hard, but he doesn’t.

  Instead, he smiles and says, “You said three or four wolves. I can handle that many.”

  His hand stays on my thigh much longer than it needs to as he assesses me. I swallow down hard, trying not to fidget so the damned sequinned top doesn’t rub against my nipples.

  “Let me take you for a drink,” he murmurs in a low sexy voice that makes my heart race.

  “I have a boyfriend,” I blurt, like an idiot.

  Nathaniel chuckles. His hand raises the hem of my skirt just a fraction. My heart hammers in my chest and I instinctively wet my lips.

  “Tonight, Georgie, I’m your boyfriend.”

  He makes me take off the parka and leave it in the pickup before we go inside. Instead, he drapes his jacket around my shoulders, wrapping me in the scent of him, which seems unnecessary when I had a coat of my own. As we head into the heat, I’m barraged with aromas. Sweat and beer are most prevalent, but I can detect individual patrons’ scents as we pass. I wonder if this keener sense of smell that I’m experiencing is something to do with becoming a werewolf.

  And then it clicks.

  My gaze crosses to Nathaniel. Clever bastard is using the smell of his jacket to mark me as his to any werewolves in the room. My heart rate cranks up a notch. He’s hoping to bait the wolf that bit me into thinking he’s claimed me first.

  When we get to the bar, I stuff the jacket into his hands. He smirks, running his gaze over me. It’s too late. The scent of him is on my skin and body. Anger lances through me. He’s tricked me into deeper waters. I want to scream at him, but I hold onto my rage and force it deep into my gut.

  Anxiety creeps in in its place. There could be more than just the werewolf we’re seeking in this bar, but how would we be able to tell without forcing them to change? Were there signs that would make them stand out?

  Nathan orders drinks for us and I spit the first mouthful out in disgust.

  “You don’t like?”

  “No,” I gripe, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. “What the hell is it?”

  “Jack and coke.”

  “Ugh. You can have mine.”

  He shrugs and slides the glass across the bar top to sit with his own. “Are you a wine drinker then?”

  “No,” I answer hastily, glancing around the room. Wine is a bad idea unless I want to get shitfaced and that doesn’t seem a good plan for tonight. I stiffen, slightly. A vaguely familiar aroma has drifted my way. “Just get me an amaretto and coke, instead.”

  “Okay, dahlin.” He waves the bartender back over.

  My eyes come to rest on a familiar face in the corner. It’s the poacher and he’s dealing cards with a group of three other men. I don’t know if he’s spotted us, yet, but I tear my eyes away in panic, feeling my pulse kick up another hysterical notch. I down half the glass of liquid that’s set down in front of me without thinking.

  “Seen someone you don’t like?” Nathaniel mutters, eying my tremble when I set the glass down a second time with less than a quarter left in it.

  “In the corner. He’s in a red baseball jacket.”

  Nathan glances discretely over his shoulder. He nods to me. “Okay, so there are four of them. Harder than th
ree, but still fine.”

  “Still fine?” I hiss, the tremble entering my voice. In what world is facing four bad guys instead of three ‘still fine’? Did I have death wish written across my forehead?

  Nathan signals to the bartender for a second drink as I finish off the first. The heat and bubbles are barely soothing my jitters. He wraps his arm around my waist, tugging me so that my back is to the poacher and his friends.

  My mouth parts in question. I’m too consumed with anxiety to comprehend what he’s doing at first. He glances over my shoulder at the men and then pulls me in, kissing me.

  My eyes close instinctively, surrendering to the seductive curve of his mouth. His lips are hot and moist, and I can taste the sharpness of his whiskey. The arm around my waist urges me closer. His other hand tangles in my hair as I grasp helplessly at his shirt collar, momentarily consumed by desire.

  When he releases me from the kiss, I pant softly, taking a moment before I can open my eyes as I savour the taste and feel of his mouth on mine, like a woman drowning. Pressed close to him, I’m vaguely aware that I’m not the only one affected by the intensity of what has just passed.

  My eyes finally flicker open and he’s smirking. It isn’t the same smirk as before, though. This one is crooked and less confident.

  “Better than I expected,” he murmurs, huskily.

  “Huh?”

  He hands me the second drink, his gaze flickering momentarily over my shoulder. Then it hits me that he’s just used me to get the other werewolf’s attention. Mentally, I kick myself, taking a long draught to wash his traitorously good kiss from my lips.

  “Another?” he murmurs, chuckling this time.

  It takes me a moment to realise he means the drink I’ve already finished, but by then he’s already ordered a replacement. Heat rises up my neck. Shame and embarrassment eat at me. How stupid to think he meant kissing me again. What am I? A sex starved spinster? Get a grip.

  “How about a game of pool?”

  My protest is lost as he sweeps us over to the table, which is adjacent to the poacher and his pack. Their card game is now clearly just for show. Their attention is on us and I don’t want to get any closer. My senses are telling me I’m in the radius of a predator, but that’s not something new that being a werewolf has taught me about certain men. It is, however, compacting it and howling for me to get out of there.

  I hover nervously by the edge of the table. Nathaniel is setting up the balls and prattling on about the differences between English and American pool and I’m just feeling nauseous as hell. I don’t care about the differences. I don’t want to play. I just want to escape.

  Nathaniel’s hand presses against the small of my back. He smiles into my anxious face. “Ready, dahlin?” And then another shattering kiss that leaves me reeling for minutes after.

  Step Outside

  By the time we’ve played a couple of games and I’ve had enough to drink that I can’t keep the rules straight, I’ve formed the threads of an escape plan. I’m just waiting for the right moment.

  Nathan, however, is being charming.

  Anyone would think he really is my boyfriend the way he keeps touching me in passing. He’s even flirting. At one point he decides I’m holding the cue wrong, even though I’m not, and uses it as an excuse to press himself against me. I know I’m trembling as he touches me, directing my hands along the length of the cue and giving me far more eye contact than I can handle.

  I’ve had too much to drink and, despite knowing that his every move is fake, the attention is making me wish there was more behind it. Especially when I find myself laughing, unprompted, at his jokes.

  Or the way heat unfolds low in my belly when he kisses me...

  The poacher has put his cards away. He and his friends are watching us, now. There’s no amusement in their eyes. Or anything else really for that matter. They pull slowly on their beers.

  My chest feels tight and my limbs unsteady. I’m trapped between two sets of predators and, despite Nathan’s flirtations or my own traitorous reactions, I’m not sure which predator frightens me the most.

  Nathaniel spins me, again, backing me up against the table so I can’t see the poacher any more. His eyes are on me without even a flicker towards the enemy.

  Something about capturing his complete attention is terribly satisfying, though I fight the sensation with as much sensibility as I can muster. His hands lace in my hair and I smell the alcohol on his breath. He seems oddly relaxed. I mutter his name with an inflexion that is accidentally more desire than warning.

  This time he kisses me slower than before. His lips are hot and gentle. My fingers snarl into the shoulders of his shirt and I make a soft noise as his tongue dares to explore. One of his hands snakes down my back, pressing me against him, as the other catches in my hair. I can taste the tang of alcohol on him, his velvet tongue mimicking the slow, aching moves I’m craving lower and deeper as he groans...

  The kiss lasts much longer than it should for a showpiece.

  When he releases me, he’s gasping softly against my lips, just like me. His heavy lidded gaze rakes up over my body to find my darkened eyes. I feel off kilter. My mouth wants his. The flicker in his eyes is animalistic in its heat. For a moment, this could be real.

  Almost.

  Then the crushing weight of everything presses down on me. I have a real boyfriend somewhere and I’m trapped and in danger. What am I doing?

  I tell Nathaniel, loudly enough so he can’t protest, that I need to go to the bathroom.

  His mouth is crooked again, his features softened and curious, the heat simmering. It’s like his cold, hard mask is slipping, but I try not to read too much into it as he points me in the direction of the ladies.

  “Don’t do anything stupid,” he warns, lowly, his touch sliding from my back as I squeeze around his frame. His hand catches mine and I find his gaze. His eyes are dark and intense. “That’s an order,” he growls softly.

  I snatch my hand back and flash him a strained smile. He leans against the side of the pool table, looking unnecessarily sexy. An alcohol fuelled image of him fucking me senseless on the green felt drenches my body. Colour rises in my face and I turn away, quickly, heading down the side passage to the ladies’ bathroom as I curse myself for whatever that thought was.

  The room is cool and empty. I splash my face with cold water, trying to sober up a little. It occurs to me Nathaniel’s been trying to keep me just drunk enough that I’ll cause him less trouble. I pat my face dry with paper towels. The reflection in the mirror has wild eyes.

  “I am wild,” I confirm to the reflection, breathily.

  My pupils are darker than they should be. Heat lines my cheekbones and I vaguely wonder if it’s from the alcohol or Nathan’s kisses. My hands are shaking.

  “I am a strong woman,” I whisper to myself and then repeat my new mantra a little louder until I feel like the trembles are adrenaline and not fear.

  Pushing myself, I head into one of the cubicles, lower the lid on the toilet and climb up onto it. I can just about reach the windows if I stretch and this one is already on a latch. It doesn’t take much to shove it wider.

  A flush of relief washes my skin, but I have no time to get complacent. It’s freezing outside so my break for it needs to be as quick as possible.

  I balance on the toilet cistern and squeeze through the narrow opening, squashing my breasts uncomfortably to pancakes and wriggling my hips until I’m free.

  The air is colder than I remember. It’s started snowing again and the ground is blanketed. The bathroom window has led to a small rear yard with a chain link fence and an open gate.

  My teeth start to chatter before I’ve even made it to the deserted backstreet. It’s late and most houses have their lights switched off. My goal is to get as far as I can from the pub. Only, the scrappy halter neck and the too short skirt are wildly hindering that. My arms cross my chest and I hurry towards the darker streets, away from any light th
at might help Nathan and that poacher or his friends spot me.

  I need to get to a police station or find a phone box and call Carrick. He’d be worried about me and he’d know what to do.

  Too late, I catch the scent of a foe, like the werewolf I pretend I’m not becoming. I glance over my shoulder and spot the poacher’s red baseball jacket a mere metre away.

  The scream leaves my throat before I can stop it and my legs begin running before I can ask them to. It’s all for nothing, though, as the bastard barrels me into a wall, flattening me with the weight of his body and knocking the air from my lungs.

  I almost collapse as he steps back, but his hands grasp my shoulders and twist me around, slamming me back into the brickwork. I have loose hair in my eyes, but I can still see the arrogant smirk on his face.

  “Hey there, missy.”

  His three friends come into view over his shoulder. My escape is looking less like an escape and more like a clusterfuck.

  “Strange time of night to go walkabout.”

  I swallow, my lips tight as I breathe hard through my nose. My arms are crossed protectively over my body, but they’re a weak defence in the face of this monster and his friends. I can no longer discern whether I’m trembling from cold or fear. The poacher’s fists clench tighter around my upper arms, keeping me pinned against the wall.

  “Been having some adventures with another buck, have we?”

  My breathing is hard and fast. “Fuck you,” I whisper, but not as confidently as I would to Nathaniel.

  He laughs in a way that tells me he’s not amused and he’s probably going to kick the shit out of me. Suddenly, I wish I’d stayed back in the bar with Nathan. “What’d you say, missy?”

  “I said, ‘fuck you’,” I repeat a little louder and fiercer, my voice still trembling.

  His hand is so fast something in my neck cracks when he whips my head to the side. My cheek burns with the imprint of his palm and I hear a hysterical squeak leave my throat unbidden. Tears prick my eyes. I release a gasping breath and turn my head, anxiously, to meet his eyes again.