Claimed by the Alpha

by Laxmi Hariharan

  “What’s the deal?” I choose my words carefully, intent on keeping the nature of what this is. A transaction. That’s all it is.

  “I suggest we use this time wisely. Let me show you the heights of pleasure I can take you to. Give me a chance to be the alpha I am.” He leans forward and places his elbows on the table, joining his fingers in front of him. “Allow yourself to be an omega.”

  A thrill of anticipation clutches at me. I can’t be turned on by the very thought of him possessing me, can I?

  I am not sure what I feel for this man.

  I didn’t know he existed until a few weeks ago. But every part of me insists I need him, and not in a way I am going to appreciate. “What does that mean?”

  “Let me show you how it can be between us.”

  “You want me to give in to your demands?”

  “No. I want you to fight, hurt me if you want. Resist. I promise I won’t do anything you don’t agree to. I promise I will not reciprocate or hit you back. You don’t have to submit to anything.” A nerve ticks to life at his temple. “Give in to your complete defiance. For once, you don’t need to hide. Neither do I. Let yourself go. Just once allow yourself to be free.”

  6

  Zeus

  “No restraints, no masks to wear, no one knows what we do here.” Am I saying this for her benefit, or is it more to remind myself?

  I am not sure.

  Fact is, I’ve never before actually negotiated the terms of how I am going to take an omega.

  I am still not sure why I am doing this now.

  I am the most powerful alpha in the city. I am used to getting what I want when I want it. Still, something tells me I need more than brute strength to tame her. I need to give her a reason to put aside whatever is holding her back. Because the surrender of her body is not enough. I need her soul. Her will, her trust—there’s that word again. It never stopped me from taking what I wanted before, so why is it so different with her?

  She hesitates. Her eyebrows draw down, and she sweeps her gaze over my features.

  I want to tell her she can trust me…not. Truth is, I don’t know if I can stick to the rules I am laying out. I go by my instinct, and right now, all I know is that I’ll try every which way to compel her to submit. On my terms, of course.

  I am not above promising her anything she wants to hear.

  Does that mean I’m a bastard? Yeah. But I have never given anyone else cause to think otherwise. Why start now?

  I am acting in the way nature intended, the way it is most natural for me. I always take what I want.

  I am not in the habit of holding back my needs.

  Just sometimes the means to the end can be different. Doesn’t matter. The goal is still the same—to coerce her to accept our connection. And she won’t take the bond, not unless our mating becomes something she wants as much as I do.

  She springs up from her seat and paces.

  The long tunic flies around her knees, showing off glimpses of that pale thigh. The skin covered in soft freckles, that I want to trail my fingers over on my way to that sweet triangle in the center of her thighs. The moisture and everything there belongs to me. Only to me. She knows it; I know it. But she needs to give it to me willingly.

  She pauses mid-step and turns to me. Her shoulders pull back, and she runs her fingers through her hair. “I so want to believe you. I do.”

  “But…?” I want to go to her and reassure her that of course, I mean it. That I saved her, brought her here, for her to heal as much as me. But I can’t quite form the words, so I stay where I am. “You can say it, Omega. Tell me what is on your mind.”

  “Why don’t you call me by my name?”

  My shoulders bunch and my jaw goes solid.

  “Tell me, Alpha.”

  “For the same reason, you don’t call me by mine.” I flatten my lips.

  “I did already.” She carves her fingers through her hair, holding it back and then releasing the strands.

  Her cheeks go rosy. “When it matters most. When I can’t lie. I called to you then. And—”

  “I gave you what you wanted, didn’t I?” I want to remind her how it was between us, that when we boiled it down to our basic needs when I took her, none of this mattered. Not the fact that I am the General of London, or that she was once the czarina of Russia.

  All that mattered was that I was born to take, she was made to give, and when we got together, it was different from anything I had ever experienced. I want to say all that, but I don’t. “I am still waiting for your answer.”

  “I know what you are doing.” She splays her hands out wide to stretch her fingers, then relaxes them.

  “Oh?”

  “Once again, you are pretending to give me options.” Her lips curl. “You are making me think that I have a say in all this. That if I don’t submit, you’ll let me walk away, when we both know that’s not true.”

  It isn’t.

  Of course not.

  I don’t intend to let her set foot off this island, not until she is completely bonded to me; not even death will let her escape me…she can’t fool me again. Not like the last time. “You’re right.”

  Her forehead furrows, and her cheeks pale. “So you admit that all this is a farce.” She waves her arms around her.

  Her chest heaves.

  “All of this saving me, bringing me here, telling me that I should let go of all my inhibitions, it’s just a way of, what? Taunting me? Showing me that I am in your power? That I can either accept and come willingly, or you’ll take me anyway?”

  Yeah, that’s exactly what it is. I stiffen and drum the table with my fingers, knowing I need to choose my words carefully. Ha? Me? The one who never holds back, not even in the thick of a war discussion, is trying to figure out how to seduce her.

  The realization sweeps over me.

  That’s what I have to do. Play with her, toy with her, seduce her into coming to me.

  Where force had not worked, maybe being more strategic will. I am not one to mince words or hold back. But just this once, maybe just a little more restraint is called for? I need to change tack, enough to disarm her. I must pull back and confuse her…and then when she least expects it, to strike. Yeah, that will work.

  “What are you thinking?” She takes a step forward, then twists her fingers together. “Whatever it is, I don’t appreciate it.”

  “Oh, so now you can read my mind?” I smirk. If I put on that alpha-hole face of mine, it will get her all riled up, right?

  “Hell forbid.” She props her arms on her hips. “I don’t want to know what depraved, filthy things you are thinking of.”

  “Speaking of filthy…” I allow my gaze to sweep down to her breasts and am rewarded when her nipples pucker. “I rest my case.”

  “So you can turn me on with a look. You can purr, and I am all but ready and moist to spread my thighs for you.” She juts out her chin. “I thought you wanted me to be willing and come to you of my own accord?”

  “That would help.” I bring my fingers together and hold her gaze, seeing the different expressions scurry across her face. She has no idea how easy she is to read. How her every thought, feeling, emotion, is reflected in the way her features mirror her internal conflict.

  But I don’t say anything, merely school my features into a mask of indifference. Sometimes you have to wait. Bide your time. I don’t have patience, but I am not foolish.

  “But?” She tilts her head, throwing my own words back at me.

  I can’t stop the laugh that barks out of me.

  This feisty woman will never hesitate to go toe to toe with me. I know now that I don’t have a choice. I’ll never meet anyone who will match me so well. Action for action. Word for word. In bed, in a fight. At every level, she is mine. She truly belongs to me. I want to bare my lips and snarl and tell her that she can never escape me, never. That I intend to take what I want by force if she doesn’t accept the terms I am laying out.

  I g
rind my jaw so hard it hurts.

  That’s not going to help. That would get her back up, and she’d flounce out of here…to where? She has no way of leaving the island. All options outlined to her lead back to one thing. Me.

  I rise to my feet.

  The color pales from her cheeks. I know by now she will not cower or shrink back or try to escape.

  My omega with the spirit of an alpha holds her ground, “I am not scared of you.”

  “You should be.”

  “I don’t trust you.” She squares her shoulders.

  “So what’s new?” I drum my fingers on my chest.

  “But I do trust that sliver of something I sense inside of you.”

  All of my senses go on alert, “Whaddya mean?”

  “Inside you is hidden a real man, an alpha who wants to protect what is his, cherish what you believe in, go after what you know is right.”

  Her words sink into my skin and warm my chest. My heart begins to hammer. The fuck? She almost had me convinced there. Clever omega, trying to make me out to be something I am not. Me, wanting what’s right? Not-fucking-true. No way. “You are mistaken.” I close the distance between us and stare down at her from my superior height.

  She still doesn’t shrink back. Huh? Woman has no thought of self-preservation.

  She squares her shoulders and juts out her chin. “You protest too much.” Her tone holds a challenge. And fuck if that doesn’t turn me on.

  A growl rumbles up my chest.

  The scent of her, that sweet arousal bleeds into the air, and my mouth waters. She wants me as much as I need her.

  But the power struggle between us is about so much more than dominance or submission. It’s a battle of wills, taking this fight to an entirely new level, and I don’t intend to lose. Never. I set my jaw.

  “The deal is off.”

  She blinks; her chin trembles.

  “I have a better idea.” My chest rises and falls, brushing the tips of her nipples.

  She shudders. “Wha…what?”

  “Let’s cut to the chase.” I peel back my lips, knowing that base instinct inside me is taking over. Knowing I am done talking. Hey, I tried to reason, tried to give her a way out, didn’t I? But I am not a saint or a diplomat. I am a marauder. I am similar to the berserkers who’d taken over her country and set her on the run…to me.

  Her breath comes in pants. She licks her lips and straightens her spine. A pulse flicks to life at the base of her throat.

  My mouth goes dry. I want to throw her down and tear into her. I need to rut her, now. I clench my jaw, curl my fingers into fists at my sides. “Run, little squirrel. I’ll give you a second chance to escape. If I catch you, you are mine. Mine to do with as I want. Mine to take as I need. Mine to ravish until you are so fulfilled you’ll never think of leaving. Mine to fill, to plunge right into, until there is no me, no you, until we wear the same skin. Until my spirit merges with yours.”

  Her shoulders tremble, and the sugary sweetness of her slick rents the air. Her pupils dilate. Her lips part. Fuck me…but she is turned on, and my cock throbs…and I keep my promises. Not. But she still doesn’t realize that. Poor trusting thing. Is she in for a surprise?

  I bend down to peer into her eyes. “Go.”

  7

  Lucy

  His voice snaps through the sexual haze that fills my head. Big surprise? I just have to be in his presence, to smell that burned pine scent of his, to sense the heat of his body bleeding through the space, and my core throbs for him. Violet sparks flare in his eyes, and I cannot look away.

  His gaze bores into me as if he’s reached into the very depths of my soul. As if he’s read every filthy, degraded image that fills my mind, sensed every horrible need inside, every lust-filled thought I’ve had about him, about what I want him to do to me. The heat cycle was the perfect excuse to let go of all inhibitions and ask him to hurt me, to take the pain away from inside of me.

  But this, here, when I am in my senses and stone-cold sober…this is when I hate myself. Hate that independent spirit inside me which refuses to submit willingly. He wants me to initiate the first move this time. And I will not. Cannot do that.

  “Last chance, Omega.”

  The heat from his body envelops me, and the force of his dominance is overpowering. My heart stutters.

  It’s as if he’s projecting his will at me and forcing me to take a step back, and another. He leans forward and snarls at me.

  My mind goes blank.

  Every thought inside me dribbles out, and my core clenches with need. My pulse rate ratchets up, my vision tunnels and everything else fades from around me. Everything except this fierce need to escape.

  Swiveling on my heel, I race out of here. Out of the doors, onto the beach, my bare feet digging into the sand, and the warmth of the particles slither between my toes.

  I run up the beach. Veering to the side, I race toward the tree line. Keep going, don’t stop. My breath catches in my throat.

  Sweat slides down my forehead, and I blink it away.

  My leg muscles burn, and a laugh tears out of me.

  I feel alive, so damn alive. I am running away from the monster, the man who bonded me, whom I refuse to accept as my mate. I should be rejoicing that I have a chance to get away from him. But deep inside, I know this is all a game. I want him to catch me, to find me, to take all choice away from me, to fuck me and knot me again and never let me go, and…no.

  The thought sends a pulse of adrenaline racing through my blood. No, I will find a way off this island, I will hide from him. I have to. The thought overpowers me. The sound of my breathing, the thud of my footsteps fills my ears. I close my mind to everything else. Don’t stop, not now.

  There is a catch in my side, and pain floods my chest. I come to a clearing and pant. Ahead a pier juts out to sea, and tethered to the edge of it is a boat. Is that how we got here? I don’t know, don’t care. It’s a real chance to get away from here. Bet he didn’t think of that, eh? Another peal of laughter spills out of me and is chased by a need to cry. I recognize the signs for what they are—hysteria. I run toward the boat. My footsteps pound on the wooden walkway. It's too loud. He's going to hear it; he’ll be here any second. Don’t look back, keep going. The breath screams through my lungs. Skidding to a stop in front of the boat, I try to unwrap the rope from around the pole it’s tied to. My hands are sweating so badly that my fingers can’t find purchase. I sense him a second before his heavy footsteps thump on the wood. He steps onto the pier and the entire structure rocks.

  “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” My heartbeat thunders in my chest. Sweat stings my eyes, and I blink it away.

  His footsteps draw closer. Steady. Ominous. He doesn’t slow down, just keeps coming.

  The rope tears at my skin, taking off the tip of a nail. I wince and the scent of blood seeps into the air. I sense him start. He’s halfway down the pier. Damn it, come on. I can’t lose. Not now. The blood pounds in my ears. Tears prick the back of my eyes. I yank at the rope and it comes undone. Yes! I throw it aside then push the boat away from the pier.

  “What are you doing, Omega?”

  A low purr accompanies his words, bleeding through the air, pouring over my back, sinking into my skin. And my heart, my stupid heart skips a beat. The bond in my chest throbs. A pulse of heat sweeps over me. My belly tightens. No, no. I push away all emotions, clamp down on every need inside of me that insists I turn and go to him. No, this is my chance. This. This is what I trained for all that time, to fight for myself. To show that I am not just an omega who submits and opens her thighs at an alpha’s command.

  Taking a step back, then another, I race to the edge of the pier and jump; my spine curves, my legs pedal in the air as I clear the water and hit the edge of the boat.

  The impact reverberates through me, then the side of the boat bites into my chest. White sparks sear my brain and I scream in pain. My muscles spasm, my legs crumple from under me. The water sloshes over me. My ey
es burn, and my hair clings to my throat.

  I grab the side of the boat and clamber over. Lurching onto the deck, I swing up to my feet.

  My shoulder throbs and my chest aches, and it’s not from the physical pain of having crashed into the boat. The bond twists and turns and yanks me to my feet. There’s a force inside, gnawing at me, begging to be unleashed; something that’s me and yet so different. One that insists I cannot leave, not now. Not when he’s there, waiting for me. Not when he is the one for me. He’s not. He isn’t.

  I slam my butt onto the wooden bench, grab the oars, and begin to row. My muscles protest, and my arm shakes. The oars dip into the water, swelling up and over one wave, then down.

  “You can’t leave me, Omega.” His voice follows me, seeping between the holes in the wind. Has nature itself conspired to hold me back and ensure that I hear him?

  “I have to go,” I say it aloud, not sure if he can hear me. Dip the oars in the waves, try to push forward. A gust of wind pushes me back, toward him, toward the shore.

  Why is this happening?

  I grit my teeth, set my jaw, then bend forward and row.

  The sweat pours down my spine; the backs of my thighs flush with sweat. I slide down the bench and almost tumble off.

  “Come back, Omega. You know you want to.”

  “No,” I scream. At him? At myself? At my pathetic attempts to get away from him, when everything inside me insists I turn around and go back to him? I am conforming to what I am, another omega who wants to be mated and bred. So what if I was once a princess, someone of high blood, who had the freedom of choice? I did choose. I chose him.

  The oars slip from my hands and hit the side of the boat with a clatter.

  “Come back, little squirrel. You know I want you.”

  I look over my shoulder, into the distance, to where the white peaks of waves in the middle of the sea are visible. The wind picks up, hurling back the boat, shoving it in the direction I’d come.