Riktor_Alpha vs Alpha

by Selena Illyria

  She tilted her head to the side but didn’t move away. “It seems like we are. So you want me to ask for what I want? Beg?”

  “I want you to say what you want, but not with me. I am not your Dom, and this is not a scene.” Challenge sparked in his now golden-flecked eyes.

  “Fine, we can pretend that this isn’t happening.” She smirked at how absurd it was to continue denying their attraction, despite their shared dream. “How about this: you let me kiss you now, and we move on with the tour?” She didn’t want to rush the pleasure of his company. Her wolf moved cautiously in the background, acting if it was stalking Riktor. Was he an enemy or something far more exciting? “Let’s find out.”

  He licked his lips. A flush of fire danced over her skin and slipped deep into her flesh to burn along her limbs. Her muscles tightened in anticipation. Her breath caught in her chest, and her thoughts scattered. Any action she would’ve taken blew away in the face of the softest and most innocent of his touches. She responded by licking the spot and taking his taste into herself. Just a hint of mint and coffee—a tease to her senses but enough to make her buzzed. Her blood heated and energy skittered through her muscles and tendons, demanding she act, she move, she do something.

  On pure instinct, she rose up on tiptoe, lifted her hand, and grabbed the back of his neck, dragging his head down to finish the contact. His lips pressed against hers—warm, firm, pure decadence. Her mouth moved against his, gliding against the smooth warmth. She brushed his lips over and over with hers until he responded and opened for her. Her tongue tasted, quested, and tangled with his. The coolness of mint and bitterness of coffee and bit of sweetness flooded her taste buds.

  He grabbed her hair and tugged her back—but as he did, he also bit at her lower lip with his teeth, a hint of power, of his willingness to claim her mouth for his own…whenever he wanted.

  He left her panting, heart racing, and her body filled with the craving for more. Mickey wanted full body contact, to feel the hard plains of him against the softness of her. To know all the heat and desire and restrained passion that lurked under the surface directed at her.

  She narrowed her eyes. “Fine, but later you’ll be begging for me to do more than just kiss you.” She took a few steps back, turned on her heel and left the room.

  He followed her out a few seconds later, the wolf glittering in his eyes, some of the blue overtaken by gold.

  She shivered. It felt as if a goose had danced on her grave at that moment.

  “I doubt that, Michaela. No one makes me beg for anything,” he growled from behind her.

  “We’ll see about that.”

  Challenge more than accepted.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Riktor drew in a deep breath. Her heady perfume surrounded him. He shut his eyes and focused on his heartbeat. The steady rhythm centered him but couldn’t shake off the cloak of need that brushed over his skin. The taste of musk filled his mouth and rushed over his taste buds. Her heartbeat thudded a steady rhythm in his head. He became aware of how in sync they were. He noticed that he drew in a breath when she did and exhaled at the same time.

  Her breath wafted against his neck. The soft touch raised goose bumps. His heart jumped. He let out a gasp and shivered. He curled his hands into fists—clenching and relaxing his hold. Tension sang along his muscles, caressed his tendons and shivered along his limbs. Fire lapped in his veins. Sensation rang in his bones.

  Her body heat permeated his clothing to seep deep into his skin, muscles, sinew, organs down into his soul. She didn’t even touch him, and yet her presence enveloped him in a cocoon which blocked out everything around him.

  His wolf whined and scratched at their barrier. The silver tattoo wrapped around his bicep burned, the heat crawled up and down his arm and rolled around his chest and flooded his abdomen.

  Every instinct in him wanted to move closer to the warmth and sweet musk. He wanted to feel her womanly curves against him once more, yet the more rational man yearned to take a step back—cede some ground to her—and save his control from breaking.

  “Riktor?” she whispered, her voice a sandpaper-roughened whisper that sang throughout his body.

  He felt like a tuning fork that had been pinged—so attuned to her.

  The alpha in him didn’t want to give her anything. His wolf snarled at the thought of pulling away from this mysterious woman. Threat or no, he couldn’t just hand over control or acknowledge that she affected him.

  He turned around—his arm and hip brushed against her, increasing the blaze in his flesh. Rather than focus on her effect on him, he focused on her face—her full lips, broad nose, dark, almond-shaped eyes. He hungered to kiss off her lipstick. Riktor needed to see her face, neck, and chest flushed, and her naked skin misted with sweat. He wanted his scent embedded deep into her pores until she smelled of him.

  His wolf’s desire to mark her so that all werewolves would know who she belonged to flooded his soul until the wolf’s yearning became the man’s. He licked his lips but made no move to act on his instincts.

  She sank back down until her head reached his chest.

  Their height difference made him want to wrap her in his arms and never let go. Despite the fierceness and confidence in her eyes, there was a hint of vulnerability. She tried to hide it, but she didn’t turn away from him.

  He reached up and cupped her face. “What are you doing to me?”

  She narrowed her eyes at him. “You want me, and you know it. Admit. Give in.”

  She cut off any response and pressed her mouth to his. They didn’t move. Right there, in the middle of the hallway, they stood there not moving. He didn’t remove his hand from her face nor did she reach up to clutch him or hold him in place.

  Electricity danced over his lips and sparked in his mouth, pinged down his throat to roll around his body, lighting fires all over until he became engulfed in a firestorm. Pain and pleasure flickered off and on. A partial shift grabbed him by the groin. His fingers thickened and lengthened while his nails grew and sharpened to claws. His muscles contracted and thickened. Blood hunger hummed through his body. He wanted to bite, mark and lap up her blood and howl his satisfaction to all around them. The pain ebbed away only to leave behind a drunken stupor that dulled his control.

  He lifted his free arm and wrapped it around her waist—hauling her closer until there was no space between them. He moved his lips over hers in a biting kiss that drew the metallic-tinged taste he desired. He lapped it up and repeated the action until she pawed at his arms. Her nails ripped at the sleeves of his jacket. His lungs ached and burned. His head swam.

  Her teeth sank into his lips and drew blood. He roared and jerked his head away but didn’t feel anger. If anything, his desire for her reached new levels.

  The wolf surged upward, its energy, thoughts, instincts enveloped him in human form. Their mutual desires, needs all became one. A single impulse to claim Michaela Shaw, body and soul, in all ways possible. The world faded away, narrowed to a ribbon connecting him to his fellow alpha. To his mate.

  His purposes in life rearranged themselves to include Michaela in it.

  He pined for her, despite her being right there and kissing him. His thirst for her redefined the word for him. She became his liquid life that laced through his blood. An inferno branded his insides. It wrote her name into the very depths of his being.

  The words mate and bind rolled around his head on repeat.

  He had to do something to bind her to him, forever. Nothing could allow them to be parted. Nothing. His wolf refused to let that happen.

  The rest of the night became a haze. He lost track of everything around them except for her. The impulse to tie her to him grew until it became a second skin, supplanting his human side and his wolf part. His survival became contingent on having her in his life, by his side. He would do everything in his power to make that happen.

  Sometime during the night, they left the resort, Michaela right by his side. His priv
ate driver took them back to the main resort where they ate. What meals they had, he didn’t know. The only thing he could say about the food was it contained meat, and they had an excellent wine.

  Throughout it all, his phone buzzed in his pocket. He ignored it. His sole focus on her. He watched the emotions play on her face. When she laughed, her face lit up. Her smile sparkled in her eyes. Riktor wanted to see those looks every day, all day, for the rest of his life. Nothing else would do. His wolf yearned to keep her on the island, forever and always.

  Their server cleared their dessert dishes away and placed delicate cups of coffee in front of them with a smile and left. The rest of the restaurant was now empty. A silvery moon, nearly full, hung in a sky full of spilled diamonds. Candlelight danced in the light breeze from the air conditioning. There could be nothing more romantic.

  Riktor leaned forward. “Marry me.”

  Her eyes widened. “Are you serious right now? We just met, made out, and you gave me a tour of your BDSM playground, and then we ate dinner,” she teased. “Does this mean this is our first date?” she teased.

  “Yes. And I ask again, marry me.” He watched emotions play across her beautiful face, lit up by a golden glow. Her eyes flashed amber. The she-wolf peeked out and watched him.

  “You’re not lying, I can sense that.” She settled back into her chair. “If I say yes, will you go through with it?”

  Everything inside of him screamed that he would do it. He needed to. His very survival depended on it. She was his mate. Now that he’d accepted that fact, it had opened a floodgate inside him. Every part of him demanded she belong to him forever. “Yes.”

  She stared at him. “Fine, get me a priest.” She crossed her arms, pushing up her breasts in the process and showing off more cleavage. His desire grew hotter. The atmosphere thinned around them, and the dining room grew smaller.

  He downed his coffee in one gulp, pushed back his chair and stood. “I know of a priest here on the island. His goddaughter is getting married here. He was the one who baptized my brothers and me. Shall we?”

  The wolf howled its approval in his head. Mate. Bind. The words continued on a loop in his head, only louder now. More insistent and coming faster and faster with each second that went by until the words merged into one.

  “We shall.”

  The urge tightened around him.

  She came around the table and grabbed his hand. “Let’s.”

  The world fuzzed and narrowed until it became a pinprick of focus. His need to tie them together flexed in his body. His every breath turned into one that included her pheromones and perfume.

  He didn’t stop to think about what he was feeling. He gave in to the primal urge ripping through him, the need that could only be satisfied by Michaela. He found the priest and convinced him of their desire to be wed. It took longer to sort out the details and choose rings from the resort’s jewelry store. After everything was arranged, the ceremony took less than ten minutes. Once the matching gold bands encircled their fingers, something inside him broke loose. He let out a long, loud howl, grabbed her hand, and pulled her to the elevator. He would have her. Now.

  “Now we fuck and seal the circle,” he growled as he pushed her against the wall of the elevator. Riktor ripped at her clothing.

  She returned the favor. Buttons, scraps of silk flew everywhere. Mickey tore at his belt and freed his cock. He lifted one of her legs, aligned their bodies, and sank into her, balls deep. His brain drew a blank. He fell into the abyss of pleasure that her pussy, wrapped around his cock, offered him.

  He continued to thrust, reaching for that mindless moment of pure bliss.

  She bit and scratched his back, shoulders, and arms, marring his skin and marking him as her own.

  “Mine,” he growled.

  “Mine,” she echoed.

  “Forever,” the wolf whispered.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Someone needed to die, Mickey thought.

  The sharp pokes into her side continued until she groaned, rolled over, and curled up into a ball. “Don’t make me spork you with a spatula,” she mumbled into the pillow.

  “Can’t, wife, darling, we need to talk. And what the fuck does that threat even mean?” Riktor’s low rumble sounded near her head.

  It took a few moments for her to understand what he’d just said. Wife. Talk. Wife.

  What the fuck?

  She opened her eyes and shut them against the light. With a groan, she uncurled and sat up. “What the hell are you talking about? I haven’t hadn’t coffee yet, so don’t even try to piss me off.”

  A cherry bomb went off in her head. She groaned. An insistent thud began over her right eye. Her stomach threatened to return last night’s whatever. “Anyone get the number of that flamingo that hit me?”

  “What? You’re not making any sense. Here, take this.”

  Something smooth and hot pressed against the back of her hand.

  With reluctance, she opened her eyes and blinked against the flood of sunlight. “Jesus, how can bird shifters stand all that brightness?” She brought the mug to her nose and took a deep sniff. “Mmm, heaven in a cup.” She took a small sip and sloshed the liquid around her mouth, bitterness burst on her taste buds.

  “Are you awake now?” Riktor took a seat on the bed. A gold band on his left hand glinted in the sunlight.

  She narrowed her eyes and sniffed.

  “The only pheromones on me are yours.” Riktor nodded toward her hand.

  She frowned and glanced down. A slim, gold ring winked up at her. She straightened up. “What the fuck is that?”

  “You don’t remember it, either?” A thick, dark brow winged up. “I got a call from Father Flannery this morning, congratulating me again on my marriage to Michaela Shaw. Next, I got an angry expletive-filled call from Ace and Banan. I didn’t get all of it, but the gist was, what the fuck was I thinking? And then there’s this.” He threw down a thick, cream-colored envelope with the Winthrop crest in the center.

  “Shit!” With one hand she snatched the envelope. Dread filled her. Sweat broke out on her brow. With a thought, she pushed the change down her arm and into her thumb. A sharpened claw lengthened her nail. She swiped at the paper and flicked it open. The partial shift receded.

  A slit of dark red paper peeped up from the packet.

  Her stomach dropped.

  She turned over the formal challenge and showed it to Riktor.

  “Yeah, just as I thought. He’s desperate. We’ve got bigger issues to deal with. We got married last night.” Riktor gave her a pointed look.

  Mickey glanced back at the ring on her finger. She turned it this way and that. It shone in the gold light of morning. Despite the evidence on her hand, she couldn’t make sense of it. She met his gaze. “How?”

  “The last thing I remember was Black Howl. After that it gets hazy.” Riktor reached over to the nightstand and picked up his own mug of coffee.

  “There is such a thing as pheromone-induced drunkenness. We started off with mate-induced connected dreaming, and I don’t think the oncoming full moon helped any. Doesn’t explain the marriage, though. What were our wolves thinking?” She studied his face for any reaction.

  He blinked and shook his head. “You did something to me. I never wanted to get married in the first place. Hell, the idea that I’m being forced to marry to secure my legacy pisses me off. I can’t think of how you could possibly get me so far gone that I’d take the plunge like that.”

  She stared at him. “You really have trust issues, you know that? Anyway, I doubt I’m that persuasive. You didn’t seem all that susceptible to my charms before.”

  “Marry me.” The words whispered in her mind.

  “Wait a minute.” She pursed her lips. “As I suddenly recall, you were the one asking me.” Mickey took a long sip of coffee to let that knowledge sink in.

  “I wasn’t in my right mind. You did something to me to make stupid.” He replicated her earlier action with
his java, all while gazing at her over the rim of his cup.

  She rolled her eyes. “Whatever, we’re still married. Hormone-induced drunkenness or no, there’s that, and you have a pack challenge. We have to decide the strategy on how to deal with this.”

  “There is no we. I have to figure out how to fight off this challenge. And you”—he pointed at her—“have to start packing and get out of here.”

  She let out a low growl. “Ordering me around isn’t a good way to start our new life together, honey. And I’m not going anywhere—not with my husband about to face off against one of the dirtiest wolves in the game.”

  He stood. “And I’m not going to involve you in this. I’ll call down to the front desk and have someone come up to get your luggage in an hour. You need to be ready to go by then. I need to go deal with my brothers.”

  She pushed down the sheets and crawled toward the edge of the bed. With a groan, she stood. “Not really my husband? Big problem there, wolfy, my body is covered in love bites, and I reek of your pheromones.” She gestured to her torso. “And how about my inner thighs? And my pussy is pretty sore, as well.”

  She stared at him, daring him to deny what they both could see.

  He rubbed the back of his neck. “Why are you doing this? We were pheromone drunk, as you explained, and neither of us wants this. I sure as hell don’t. If I get married, I want it to be with eyes wide open. Not with my wolf calling the shots.”

  She shook her head. “That’s not how pheromone drunkenness works. The wolf may take the driver’s seat, but the human can put a stop to it if he or she really wants to.”

  He frowned. “No—”

  She held up a hand. “Think it over. Concentrate on last night and ask your wolf. Even if you consciously didn’t want it, your subconscious agreed with your wolf that marriage is the way to go. Look, for what it’s worth, I’m not so pleased about this either. I didn’t want to get married, either, not unless it was with the right guy. And I didn’t even get a cake! But since I’ve met you, I can’t deny that my wolf has been calling you our mate. Tell me your wolf doesn’t say the same.”