Alpha Domination (Alpha Wolf Book 1) Read online

  I wrap my thighs around him, locking my ankles, and circling him with my arms as he shifts us into a sitting position on the bed. His hands move to my hips, urging me closer and drawing himself deeper inside me with a groan that I match.

  This is new, a position I’ve never tried. Or, at least, one that my previous partners haven’t wanted to try. Here we’re level. Equal.

  And the pleasure is intense.

  I’m struck by the notion that this is possibly the best sex I’ve ever had, but Nathan’s attentions leave me little time for thought or reflection. Every sweet sensation he plucks is followed by another.

  He kisses me slowly and then more urgently as we rock together, bodies desperate for one more thunderous explosion. I hold onto his shoulders, thrusting wildly as the momentum rises. He watches me cry out and tip my head back in reckless abandon. His lips graze my breasts, hot, heavy breaths rushing over my skin.

  “Don’t stop,” I hear myself say in whispery ecstasy. “Don’t stop... Oh god... Oh god, Nathan!”

  And then I hear him shout for me as we both explode for the second time that night, clasping each other tightly and shuddering together.

  Slow, soft kisses flutter languidly between us. There are no more words said as we fold in each other’s arms.

  Shifted Balance

  Nathaniel’s asleep and I’m wondering what the hell I’ve done.

  I’ve been lying awake, puzzling why thoughts of Carrick hadn’t surfaced and stopped me from enjoying myself with a man whom I can only really describe as a dangerous stranger. I’ve seen him murder somebody in the same night as I’ve fucked him, for god’s sake.

  Which seems a ridiculous statement to tag this sexy, naked man with as he sleeps beside me like a felled beast. I try to fathom how it happened, how anger and frustration boiled over into a good hard shag and then mutated into something like making love.

  Making love more than once...

  I glance at the discarded halter on the floor, the torn knickers and damaged skirt. The hastily unravelled and thrown stockings that his lips and teeth had craved removed from my skin. The bloodstained shirt...

  I made love to a murderer and a werewolf.

  Not once.

  Not even just twice.

  I slip out from beneath the safe curl of his arm and tiptoe across to his windowless bathroom. The porcelain of the sink is icy cold against my palms, but I reason it might shock me into some kind of sense.

  Did making love mean I’d given in to him? Did that count as some kind of submission? Because fuck that. It had been far from it. I close my eyes on thoughts of aching pleasure, cutting out my own reflection in the dirty bathroom mirror. That first round had just been hot, angry sex, but the second...?

  He’d hit something deeper. Something I realise I’d felt the moment I’d caught his scent in the snowy woods. And, if I’m not mistaken, our first bout of hot and heavy had unearthed something in him, too. Something that had played out in those slow, sensuous kisses he’d patterned every inch of my body with.

  My knuckles tighten and I shake my head. The best sex of my life is still no excuse to betray Carrick. Even if he’s a self-important arsehole. I squeeze my eyes closed tighter. But am I just giving him that label because I’m angry with myself? Trying to justify what I’ve done? He’s not really that bad. Is he?

  And what happens when the full moon passes and Nathan kicks me out...?

  What do I do then?

  “Get a grip, Georgina,” I whisper to my reflection. “You are a strong fearless woman. This is just a... sabbatical. From your real life.”

  I sigh. There are dark circles under my eyes and my skin is pale and wan in the dire bathroom light. This is, physically, the worst I’ve ever looked. I rub the mark on my shoulder where the bullet hole has almost vanished. But...

  “I don’t want to go back,” I murmur sadly to my reflection.

  So much has changed. How can I go back to everything that was before?

  When I return to the bedroom, Nathan isn’t there. I grab a plaid shirt from his messy wardrobe and button it over my breasts as I pad, barefoot, into the main floor of the little house.

  He’s in the kitchenette, his head in the fridge, wearing nothing but boxers. I can see the slightest trace of nail marks on his back forcing an arrow of desire down into my loins. He slaps a pack of bacon on the counter without looking at me and then lifts a pan from a cupboard.

  “We shouldn’t have gotten carried away,” his tones are deceptively even.

  That aloofness is back in play, apparently, stealing away the sensual man that made love to me all night and leaving a shadow in his place. An ache settles over my chest. I find myself desperate to know how he feels, but completely unequipped to approach the question.

  “We’ll have breakfast and then I’m heading out.”

  “Out?”

  He lights the gas, still not looking at me. “Yes.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “Just me. You’re staying here. I’m going to check the woods. Those assholes might have followed us.”

  I blink. “Okay.”

  He looks at me, finally, but like he doesn’t believe his ears, not because he just wants to look at me.

  I grit my teeth, faltering. He thinks I’m conceding to him. “That’s not because we... I’m not agreeing with you because... Because you want me to. I’m...”

  His eyebrow raises. My fists clench.

  “This is not a submission thing, okay?! I just don’t want to see that guy again.”

  “Of course. I wouldn’t have thought anything else,” he murmurs and nods. “Not a submission thing.”

  Then he turns back to the pan and the bacon and I feel like my point has been somehow undermined, but he’s agreed with me, so it seems stupid to argue it further. Even though I want to, just to make sure he understands I’m not giving in...

  I pad closer, but he doesn’t turn. He’s laying out the bacon in the pan. I climb up onto one of the stools at the small breakfast bar, shifting so that I can watch him. The shadows of muscles I gripped as I screamed for him play across his back. It would be foolish to reach out and touch them.

  There are things I want to say. Things I want to ask.

  But everything feels strained.

  The pan goes on the hob. Nathan starts talking as he turns to face me. “I was thinking you...” His gaze flickers down to the hem of the shirt. It’s risen dangerously high on my thigh on this impractical seat. He swallows and forces his gaze up to my face as my cheeks burn and I smooth the fabric down. “You should read my book. It’s a sort of guide for new werewolves.”

  He’s leaning against the counter, angling himself to give the most distance between us. I wonder how much of a mistake last night was to him. My heart sinks. Why do I care? It all started out as a way for him to quash me. Surely, I should be happy it’s backfired on him?

  But I’m not. How can I be?

  I’m so confused.

  “Sounds good,” I say, offering what I hope is a grateful smile. “Did you write it?”

  “Um...” His hand reaches up into the back of his hair, scratching in an uncharacteristically unsure way. “A long time ago.” He hesitates. “For my pack.”

  “Oh...”

  He turns to flip the bacon that’s sizzling in the pan. His frame is drawn and I sense I’ve been allowed a glimpse of something very private.

  I wet my lips, hesitating. “You... You didn’t say what happened to your pack.”

  “No,” he answers, slowly, “I didn’t.”

  “Did they... leave... or something?”

  His back has tensed, now.

  I swallow. “They’re just not around, so I–”

  “They’re gone.”

  The awkward silence is punctuated by the crackle of bacon in the pan. I can see his reflection in the kitchen window. He has his eyes closed and there’s a pained expression on his face.

  I wet my lips. “That... must be hard. Did t
hey all go together?”

  He releases a low, wounded sigh. “Pretty much.”

  “What about Hattie? Is she your... she-wolf?”

  He turns to look at me and I almost wish he hadn’t. “No. And the term is ‘mate’.” He shakes his head. “If I had a mate, last night wouldn’t have happened.”

  I swallow. “I... have a boyfriend.”

  His arms cross his chest and he nods. “You did mention it.”

  “Last night...”

  “You don’t have to explain to me. I instigated everything.” He pauses. “You’re probably looking forward to seeing him again.”

  I open my mouth. He’s turned his back on me once more and now he’s fishing the bacon into soft, white folds of bread. It feels like he’s excusing me for what I’ve done, but it doesn’t feel right. “Nathan, I wanted–”

  He looks at me and it’s as if the man I’ve just been talking to has vanished only to be replaced by a stone cold robot. He slaps a sandwich down on the counter in front of me and disappears into his bedroom, tearing a chunk from his own breakfast as he leaves.

  A few hours later, I’m back in the same jeggings as before. Nathan has given me his book to read and I’m sitting on the sofa when he reappears, clearly ready to go scout out the area. His face is tired and drawn. He hesitates by the door and then throws me a bunch of keys.

  “Lock up behind me.”

  The words send a chill through my veins. I’ve tried not to think about Caleb the poacher since we drove away from him in the night. It seems like so much has happened since then. I look down at the keys in my hand and realise that this is something difficult for Nathan to do.

  “Don’t answer the door unless it’s me. If I don’t come back before nightfall...” Real panic begins to thread through my veins. “Take the pickup and drive as far away as you can from Washington.”

  I stand up, the keys clutched tightly in my hand. “Nathan...?”

  “Caleb is dangerous. His mutts will be, too. If I find them out in the woods–”

  “But you can take them,” I interrupt. “You were confident last night.”

  His face is pained. “Last night I wasn’t... I wasn’t really thinking about consequences.” He sighs. “Just please do as I say, Georgie. If I’m not back by nightfall or you hear me howl, take the pickup and drive. Go... Go to your boyfriend. Wherever. As long as it’s far away from here.”

  “But... you’re coming back?”

  He looks at me. “Yeah... Sure.”

  He disappears out of the door and into the snow. Unease hits me.

  I lounge anxiously around the living room for a couple of hours, reading the book he’s lent me and glancing at the door. It’s a pretty useful read, if I’m honest. It’s written in a curled, loping hand with careful instructions on channelling the change from human to wolf form. Occasionally, there are names mentioned, some of which sound like they could have been pack members or other werewolves he’s known.

  At lunchtime, I make myself something to eat punctuated by a long pause at the kitchen window. Nathan hasn’t returned and I haven’t heard any wolves howling.

  But that’s good, right? That means he’s safe?

  There’s so much I want to figure out how to say to him. I’ve never felt so intense and so confused at the same time. It’s driving me insane.

  The hours draw on. I find a section in the book about female werewolves. There’s a list of names with short profiles beside them. One or two are crossed out and a couple have been added in different inks. Each one lists a physical description, the area they frequent, any known alphas, and then a few notes Nathan has obviously thought relevant.

  Hattie isn’t recorded. I don’t know whether I’m relieved or disappointed that I can’t find out any more information about her and her odd relationship with Nathan.

  There is one name that looks interesting, though. It’s crossed out, like some of the others.

  Anna.

  Nathaniel’s description of her physical appearance is more detailed than most. I stare at the words, noting larger blots with his ink, as if he’s paused in thought with his pen still on the paper. The extra information at the end doesn’t record favourite weapons or things to be wary of, either. Instead, he’s written down favourite flowers and fashion stores.

  I stare at the words. Who is Anna to him?

  After a while, I drag myself away from Anna’s profile and find a short one he’s scribbled on the end of the list in slightly more erratic handwriting. It’s my name.

  I swallow.

  The physical description is basic. I don’t know what I’m expecting, but it seems a little lacklustre. Or maybe I’m just disappointed I didn’t get as much space as Anna. I move on to the end notes section where he’s written ‘difficult’ in capital letters. He’s followed that up, unsurprisingly, with ‘frustrating’. I smirk when I come to ‘headstrong’, but the crooked grin dissolves when I read ‘innocent’ and ‘tastes like falling’.

  I reread the words slowly. He didn’t have time to write them between last night and when he handed me the book, so how and when could he have attested to my taste? And then it hits me. It must have been after Hattie got him drunk and he found out my name.

  But what did he mean by ‘falling’?

  I glance through the window. Snow is starting to tumble down in big thick flakes. Daylight is fading. My eyes stray to the pickup keys on the side table. Before, I would have taken them as soon as he stepped foot out of the door, but now...

  My lip catches between my teeth. He needs to come back.

  Am I really supposed to just drive away if he doesn’t?

  What did last night mean to him?

  I start reading the next section to distract myself. It seems to be something more in depth about female werewolves and how to ‘handle’ them. The first few suggestions like giving small concessions don’t sound too bad, but the list gets progressively worse. I wonder if Nathan has written this off his own back or if it’s advice he’s been given.

  Then my blood chills as I hear the howl of a wolf on the wind.

  Blood And Bullets

  The keys to the pickup are in my hand and I’m standing outside the front door in the snow. The parka clings to me, the fur trim ruffling in the wind.

  The tangle of metal digs into my palm. There’s another urgent howl, but I can’t tell how far away it is. Or even if it really is Nathan. It could be a trick. But something assures me that it is him and he’s in trouble.

  I glance at the vehicle. Do I run like he says? The light is fading. If I don’t go now I might lose the road in the dark and the snow. I curse to myself and head to the pickup.

  It’s all American and I’m only used to driving a British car. Everything is in the wrong place. I sit in the driver’s seat, gripping the wheel and staring out over the bonnet with my teeth gritted. My pulse is rising. My breathing is beginning to come in short sharp gasps.

  “I can’t do this,” I whisper to myself, almost paralysed with fear. “I can’t do this.”

  And then I think of my aunt and how she always believed in me, how she encouraged me to be brave. The words from Nathan’s book come back to me. Difficult. Frustrating. Innocent. Tastes like falling.

  I swallow. Last night turns over in my head. Nathan saved my life with that werewolf. He stepped in twice to rescue me. I was exactly how he’d described me, difficult and frustrating. The epitome of a strong woman. Right?

  And even when he’d tried to control me, I hadn’t backed down. I’d faced him head on. Just like a strong, brave woman would. And it had gotten me what I wanted.

  My hands tighten on the steering wheel. I can still taste the way he kissed me in the early hours, fumbling languidly in the dark like we had all the time to taste and please each other the fourth time we’d come together. And I realise, like a mad person, that I’m not done with him, yet.

  “Fuck!” I hiss to myself. I know what I’m going to do and it might be the stupidest thing I
’ve ever done.

  My fists slams down on the dashboard, frustration pouring through my limbs. The weak plastic dislodges the clip on the glove compartment and it falls open, spilling all kinds of crap into the passenger footwell. But there are two things I spot with an open jaw.

  A gun and a mobile phone.

  I pick up the weapon and place it on the passenger seat. My knowledge of guns is limited. All I know is that most have a thing called ‘safety’ and if it’s switched off I could cause myself a problem if I try to fire it, but I have zero idea how to check.

  The mobile, however, has full signal and no lock screen. I groan. Nathan’s last dialled numbers are a mess of non-existent contact details. There are two numbers in contention for most dialled, so I ring the top one and wait.

  “Hey, you’ve reached Anna’s cell. Leave your crises at the tone.”

  I blink and hastily end the call.

  For a moment or two, I stare at the phone, wondering about the mysterious Anna. Then it hits me that I’m wasting time and I dial the second number.

  “Is everything alright, Nathaniel?” the woman’s voice sounds suspicious, but I’m relieved. Well, sort of.

  “Hattie?” I squeak.

  “Oh god.” She’s not pleased to hear from me. In fact, she sounds disgusted. “Is this the conservation chick? Where’s Nathaniel?”

  “I think he’s in trouble. He left this morning and told me to take his pickup if he didn’t come back by nightfall.”

  She hesitates. “Where did he go?”

  “The woods, I think. There were people after us.”

  “Go find him. There should be a gun in the car. Take that.” I glance across at the black pistol. “Try to get him back to the cabin. And call me when you find him.”

  “How am I supposed to find him?”

  “You found him before, didn’t you?” she spits and hangs up.

  “Okay, okay,” I murmur frantically to myself. I toss the phone onto the seat with the gun. It gleams in the ever decreasing light. I breathe in through my nose and out through my mouth.