The Alpha Claims A Mate

by Georgette St. Clair

  “Where are we?” she asked.

  The sheriff blinked in surprise. “Oh. I took you to my house. I wasn’t even thinking.”

  He parked the car in front of his house and turned to her, exasperation on his face. He grabbed her hand, and at the touch of his skin she felt the familiar sizzle of attraction burning through her. “I just can’t think straight when I’m around you,” he said, his voice hoarse. “I barely slept last night.”

  She swallowed hard. “I’m sorry. I really am. I’m just trying to protect my family, and keep the peace with my Alpha.”

  “I’ll talk to him again,” Loch said, his hand closing around hers. “I can’t let you go. You’re what I’ve been looking for all of my life. You’re like the puzzle piece that I didn’t realize was missing.” His thumb moved across the back of her hand. Ginger’s breathing quickened, and heat flared between her thighs.

  She glanced at the house.

  “So,” she said. “Here we are. At your house. Just you and me.”

  “I’d be rude if I didn’t offer you a guided tour,” he said.

  “Yes, that would be very rude.”

  “Just a quick tour,” he promised. She followed him into the house, cursing her complete lack of willpower. Loch was harder to resist than chocolate, and that was saying a lot.

  The sheriff’s house was decorated with a spare, masculine style, with handmade wooden furniture and a deer’s skull with antlers over the flagstone fireplace. A floor to ceiling window looked out on a riot of tropical greenery, with red flowering hibiscus splashed in a blaze of color amidst orange trees and palmettos.

  “It’s beautiful,” she said.

  “It could use a woman’s touch,” he said, bending to kiss her neck, and then nipping it gently. “Know any women who might be interested in helping me redecorate?”

  She laughed. “I imagine there’s no shortage of volunteers.”

  “I have very particular tastes. She’d have to be a sexy redhead with a smart mouth and a good heart and a very voluptuous body. And a fondness for spankings.”

  Loch pulled Ginger up against him and hugged her, hard. “You were a very bad girl, going to the souvenir shop without asking me first,” he murmured in her ear.

  “Yes, I was.” Ginger’s voice was husky with desire. “Are you going to punish me?”

  “Walk over to the couch.” He released her and stepped away.

  Legs trembling with anticipation, she walked over.

  “Now bend over the arm.”

  She did as he commanded, lying with her head turned to the side, face pressed against the sofa cushion, and her buttocks raised up in the air. She could feel the deep ache of need pulsing between her legs, and she let out a low, helpless moan. Waiting for him was sweet torture.

  The sheriff grabbed the hem of her skirt and yanked it down, and then did the same with her underwear.

  He slid his hand between her legs and began caressing her, fingers lightly skimming the lips of her pussy.

  She let out a little whimper and shifted her weight, opening her legs wider.

  His fingers probed deeper, and she drew her breath in between her teeth in a sharp hiss of pleasure.

  Then his free hand descended on the round ivory globe of her right butt cheek, delivering a stinging smack.

  “Oh,” she cried out, and his fingers moved faster on her pussy, strumming her clit, playing her like an instrument, as he spanked her again. And again. The stinging sensation was delicious, and she squirmed with pleasure, whimpering with each smack. His hand moved to the other cheek, warming the skin with each stinging slap, and she quivered beneath him, struggling to catch her breath.

  “You just love to be punished, don’t you, Ginger?” His voice was hoarse with desire.

  “Yes,” she moaned, “Oh, yes.”

  The heat rose up inside her and then broke and flowed over her in hot waves. She clutched at the couch, fingers sinking into the fabric as she wailed her pleasure and the orgasm shuddered through her body.

  “Don’t move,” he commanded, and she heard him fumbling with his belt and his pants, and then she felt the thick head of his cock sliding between the slick, wet petals of her pussy.

  With a savage thrust, he speared her, forcing himself several inches inside.

  She clutched the couch harder, knuckles turning white. “Yes,” she moaned, and he grabbed her hips and thrust again, sliding all the way in and holding her firmly.

  “I’ll never let you go,” he said, and drew back to thrust again.

  “Oh, God,” she whimpered, face down on the couch. He pumped harder, and she felt the tickle of his pubic hair against her buttocks, and the slapping of his testicles against her bare skin.

  He slammed into her so hard that it rocked her body with each thrust, and she put her hands flat on the couch and braced herself, pushing back against him. She wanted all of him, wanted him to bury himself inside her to the hilt. He was so big that she could barely contain him, and she loved it, loved how it felt to squeeze his stiff cock with her muscles.

  His breath grew harsher and faster, and his hands tightened on her hips, holding her firmly in place as his groans of pleasure reached a crescendo. His hot, sticky seed flooded inside her, and she felt his body shuddering with the force of his orgasm.

  Finally, slowly, he pulled out of her with a groan. He pulled her up and spun her around, taking her into his arms, crushing her up against him.

  “We can work this out,” he told her. “Stay here with me, Ginger.”

  She wrapped her arms around his waist and pressed up against him, breathing in his scent, the smell of sweat and cologne mixed with the sweet scent of sex.

  Her heart swelled in her throat, with an aching longing. In his arms she felt warm and safe. The thought of walking away her sent icy shivers through her.

  “I want to more than anything in the world,” she said. “But I can’t make any promises right now. We’ll have to take things day by day.”

  He let out his breath in a frustrated hiss. “I think you’ve just earned yourself another spanking,” he said.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The setting sun lit the horizon on fire, painting the tips of distant treetops red and yellow. Marigold stood in the backyard staring into the distance, arms folded, a frown creasing her face.

  “That’s not how you’re supposed to look when you’re standing out here in God’s country, watching a beautiful sunset,” Ginger said.

  “I told Henry I couldn’t see him any more.” Marigold’s face was a mask of misery. Her eyes glittered with angry tears.

  “Oh,” Ginger said. “Was he bad in bed?”

  “No, he was incredible. Ten out of ten. Wait, make that twenty out of ten.”

  “Was he rude while you were out on dates? Flirted with other women?”

  “No, he held the door open for me, acted like I was the only woman in the world, and seemed fascinated with everything that I said.”

  “Wow. He sounds like such a douchebag. I’d have dumped him too.”

  “I know, right? What a dick.” Marigold sounded aggrieved.

  “Remind me again why we’re mad at him?”

  “Because he’s acting like the perfect guy and then he’s going to do whatever it is that he does that breaks my heart.”

  “Right. Of course. Dick.” Ginger turned to walk back to the house, but then she stopped.

  Just because her relationship was doomed didn’t mean that everybody else’s relationship had to be doomed. She tried to think about how to diplomatically approach the situation. How to get Marigold to see how foolish she was being.

  “Marigold, you’re being a total, pig-headed dumbass.”

  Oops. That hadn’t come out in the loving, supportive manner that she’d meant it to. Maybe she was a teensy bit crabby because she was still stressed out about the situation with the sheriff.

  “What?” Marigold said, shocked.

  “Listen. Did it ever occur to you that you can a
ffect the outcome of your psychic visions?”

  Marigold started to protest, but Ginger held up her hand. “Hear me out. You’re so burnt out and bitter from having lived through your mother’s world-record-breaking number of divorces that you go into every relationship expecting it to fail. What if you decided to try your hardest to make this work?”

  “Well, I-“

  “I happened to have asked Loch about Henry. He said that word among the shifters is, Henry’s talking non-stop about how much he likes you.”

  “Really?” Marigold blinked back tears. “But I already broke up with him. And he was really upset. It’s probably too late.”

  “He was upset because he really likes you, you moron! Call him back and be honest with him. Tell him that you really really like him too, but you’ve been through so many bad relationships that it’s hard for you to trust anybody.”

  “I saw myself in the future, going back to New York, alone!”

  “But that’s what happens if you have the mindset that no relationship is going to work. Look, happy relationships are out there. We’ve both seen them. My parents are a perfect example. Change your mindset, for God’s sake. Go apologize to him now. Do something crazy, show up wearing lingerie under a coat or something like that.”

  “I – I - ”

  “Go! My love life may be screwed because apparently I’m the wrong color of wolf, but that doesn’t mean that everybody else has to suffer.”

  “Well, if I’m a dumbass, so are you. You’re giving up way too easily,” Marigold said, and marched back to the farmhouse, leaving Ginger standing by herself watching the sun sink lower and lower into the horizon.

  A sudden noise coming from behind the outhouse made Ginger start. She couldn’t quite figure out what it was; it sounded like two raccoons fighting, but the scent from behind the outhouse was definitely human.

  Carefully she crept behind the outhouse, peeking behind bushes to see…Winifred and the handyman, buck naked, on the ground. Their clothes lay in a pile next to them. Winifred was on top, straddling the handyman, head thrown back in ecstasy, riding him like a cowboy on a bucking bronco. Her hair flowed down her back and over her small breasts like a golden waterfall.

  “Harder!” the handyman yelled. “Ride me like a bull!”

  Good lord, she thought, even Winifred’s got a better love life than me.

  With a sinking heart, she turned and walked back to the boarding house. The wedding march ring tone sounded, and she reluctantly answered her phone. More bad news?

  “You are not coming back to New York,” her mother said. “You are going to stay there and marry that sheriff, and that’s final.”

  “Hello. By the way, that’s how normal people start their phone conversations. They say hello. Maybe exchange a few pleasantries. How’s the weather in New York?”

  “Cloudy, with a chance of weddings. Listen. I spoke to your father. We are not going to allow Reynaldo Cruz bully us like that. He hasn’t even given your father a raise in years. Your father is already updating his resume and putting out feelers with other firms.”

  “If the Alpha fires him and puts out the word not to hire him…”

  “We could relocate to another pack, if we had to. This wedding is happening, damn it!”

  “Mother, why are you so insanely determined to see me married?”

  “Because meeting your father was the best thing that ever happened to me, and I have been ridiculously happy every day that I am married to him. Even when he annoys the living crap out of me, which is fairly frequently. I want that for you. The happy part, not the annoying part, but I think they go hand in hand, unfortunately.”

  “Oh.” Sudden tears sprang to Ginger’s eyes. It was true. Her parents were a living testament to the power of love. She yearned for what they had. “I could swear you just used a cuss word. You’d wash my mouth out with soap if I said that!”

  “Well, I’m frustrated. This is ridiculous! Some jealous cow is trying to ruin your relationship because you and the sheriff are different types of wolf? I’m a witch and your father is a shifter. We couldn’t possibly come from more different backgrounds , and we’ve been ridiculously happy for 30 years. And we have four of the most beautiful daughters any family could hope for. And I want some damn grandchildren to spoil while I’m still young enough to bend over and pick them up!”

  “Good gracious, mother. Language. Watch your language. You really think that you and dad will be all right if I stay here?”

  Her mother had already mentally moved on to more important matters. “I’m trying to decide what type of paper you should choose for the wedding invitations. Also, there’s a lot of different styles of calligraphy to consider and I think-“

  “I am officially hanging up on you now. I love you, and you’re insane. Seek professional help.” Ginger clicked the “off” button, but as she walked up the back stairs, she allowed a little flutter of hope to quiver inside her heart.

  Maybe she could stay here. Maybe she could keep Loch. Maybe her heart didn’t have to break into a million pieces.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “So if you get married, can I be a bridesmaid?” Lola was leaning back in her chair with her combat boots propped up on the desk, flipping through the pages of a bridal magazine.

  Ginger grabbed it away from her. “My God. You, my mother, Loch’s grandmother…Why is everyone in the world so obsessed with marrying me off?”

  Then she peered at the page Lola had been looking at. “That is a beautiful dress. Wow. Ivory silk. And look at those hand embroidered roses. You know- no, damn it! I will not be sucked into this madness! It is way too soon to be talking about weddings!” She threw the magazine back down on Lola’s desk.

  “Not around here. When the Alpha claims a mate, it’s pretty much bam, boom, done. And an Alpha wedding is amazing. All the packs from all over the state come, and the party lasts for days. Think how many hot guys I’d meet.” Lola pouted. “I’m bored with all the guys in Blue Moon. I need fresh flesh. Why can’t you think about my needs?”

  Ginger walked away, laughing. Then she glanced at the corner of the room and saw Jax glaring at his computer, lips pressed together in an angry line, and she sobered up a little. She had a feeling that one way or another, Jax wasn’t going to last with the sheriff’s office much longer. He was a man of action, he had the temperament if not the self-restraint of an Alpha, and there was no way he’d put up with a desk job forever.

  She looked up to see Loch walking out of his office, towards her.

  “There’s been a break in the case,” he said.

  “What break?”

  “We got an anonymous tip from a disposable phone, telling us to search Tommy Deerkiller’s house. And Montgomery actually agreed to let us come on to Panther Nation property so we could do the search; he agreed this case needs to be resolved. We found the professor’s clothes hidden under Deerkiller’s bed. They were shredded, as if by panther claws, and they’re blood-staine.d We’ve been investigating Deerkiller for some time now, even before the professor’s disappearance, for suspicion of dealing in stolen Panther Nation artifacts.”

  Loch didn’t look happy as he said it, though.

  “What is it?”

  “I just don’t like it.” Loch shook his head. “I don’t know why, because everything ties together neatly, and we do know for a fact that Tommy deals in stolen goods, but something doesn’t smell right here.”

  “I agree, there’s something off about it. Who made the anonymous call? Why would Tommy hide the professor’s clothes at his house? And if he was the professor’s inside man, why would he kill him?”

  “Theoretically, they could have argued over money. The professor could have threatened to blackmail him.” He sighed and shook his head. “Nothing we can do about it right now, anyway. Tommy’s lawyered up. My grandmother’s holding a barbecue at her place tomorrow afternoon, by the way. She invited you.”

  She held up her hand to argue with him, and
he shook his head. “Ginger, let me worry about the pack. Just come, all right?”

  “That’s a very public statement you’d be making.”

  “Yes it is.” He looked at her steadily, and she felt her heart swelling in her chest. He wanted her, and he wasn’t afraid who knew it. He’d be proud to be seen by her side. The thought took her breath way.

  Stil, when she went back to the boarding house that evening she felt strange and unsettled. She felt as if they were missing something important. And she knew damned well that the professor wasn’t dead. Her powers had never steered her wrong before.

  Tommy Deerkiller had, of course, vociferously denied knowing anything about the bloody clothes in his room. He’d denied killing the professor, communicating with the professor about selling him icons, or seeing him on the night the professor disappeared.

  But he admitted that he’d been dealing in stolen property.

  Odd, Ginger thought.

  When Ginger walked in the door, Marigold was waiting for her.

  She told her that three of the archeology students had gone home already. There was no point in staying; it was pretty obvious that the professor wasn’t coming back. “Also, heads up, Brenda and Tallulah are in a snit because you told them the professor was alive and now the bloody clothes make it look like he’s dead.”

  Brenda and Tallulah, their rivalry apparently forgotten, were sitting on the living room couch crying on each others’ shoulders.

  They both looked up and glared at her when she came in.

  “Fraud,” Brenda hissed, her eyes swollen into little slits from crying.

  “You got our hopes up for no reason,” Tallulah sniffled self-righteously.

  Ginger tried to speak, but they both got up and flounced out of the room.

  “Damn it,” Ginger said unhappily. “I know that I’m right. He’s not dead.”

  “I have news that might cheer you up,” Marigold said. “Not professor-related news, but still…”

  Ginger peered at her closely. “Oh my God, you’ve got that I’ve-just-had-multiple orgasms look about you. Henry forgave you and you had makeup sex. In the middle of the day. Only a complete floozy does that. I know from personal experience.”