Falling for the Alphas: Part One

by Cassie Wright

  Then she toppled over.

  Dylan lunged forward and caught her in his arms before she could spill onto the floor. He realized his pulse was still racing in his ears, though now for a completely different reason. She was beautiful. Sensual. Her curves were wicked beneath her coat and her legs were full and strong, her skirt hiked up almost to her waist. Her scent enveloped him, floral and sweet, light and tantalizing. He resisted the urge to bury his face in her midnight hair, to inhale her deep into his soul.

  Almost bewildered by the sheer force of his attraction, he tore his gaze from her and up to the hovering spirit seed. It glowed with holy light, pulsing quietly and lighting up the interior of the lobby with otherworldly hues.

  "A totem-seed," whispered Dylan. Reverence fought his burning desire. He desperately wished he could speak the language of the spirits like a shaman. Instead, all he could do was bow his head in respect. A totem-seed, at long last.

  Dylan looked down at the woman in his arms. She was out cold, her head turned to one side revealing a smooth expanse of neck. He fought back the urge to kiss her there. She was nothing like the female werewolves of his pack; they were lean, muscled, built for war and strife. This woman was soft, full bodied, her breasts straining against her shirt; she was like a ripe peach, the kind whose juices ran down your chin when you took your first bite, filling your mouth with the richest of flavors.

  He swallowed. The totem-seed continued to hover above them. Dylan forced himself to gather his wits. To have almost caught Stark himself in combat! He rose to his feet, lifting the woman effortlessly in his strong arms. He couldn't leave her here. If she had drawn Stark's personal attention, then nowhere was safe.

  Dylan hesitated. He'd have to watch over her till she awoke. Explain the danger she was in. Ask her about her totem-spirit companion. If she knew what it meant. What it promised. How it could change the world - and what she would have to do to set it free.

  The hairs along the back of his neck rose. This was momentous. This could change everything. Yet instead of thinking about politics, the future of the Silver Song pack, the war with the enemy, he could only stare at her face and wonder who she was. Her name. He wanted to gaze into her large eyes once more. Wanted to explore her body, taste her, drink deep her scent, feel her push against him, hear her moans, her cries, bury his -

  Dylan jerked his head back. By the Earth Mother, what was wrong with him? He was acting like a barely turned pup. Standing here foolishly while Stark went for reinforcements. Turning, he jogged out of the lobby and into the cold night air.

  To his enormous relief, the totem-seed followed. His motorbike was parked just a few yards past the SUV. Dylan hesitated, and then swung one leg over its broad seat. Cradled her body against his chest with one arm, and gunned the bike to life with the other.

  They had to get out of the city. He'd take her to Anna's House. It would be safe there. As safe as any place could be in this dark and ruined world.

  ~~~

  The roaring of a motorcycle and cold wind on her face brought Naomi back to consciousness. A strong arm was wrapped around her shoulders, and she was being held against someone's chest. She raised her hand to block the wind from her face, and realized she was sitting side-saddle on a large bike, just behind the handlebars, and they were no longer in Fort Brixton but rather driving down a country road through dark woods.

  Panic seized her by the throat. Where was she? Who was this man? An image returned to her: Stark, shifting into a black-furred nightmare, chasing her out of the dark theater. She was about to struggle, to flail out suicidally, but then she saw Illixy - he was keeping pace with them, bobbing through the midnight air and leaving behind a stream of golden wisps and dancing motes like a comet arcing across the night sky.

  You're alright, said Illixy, his voice clear in her mind despite the roar of the bike and wind. He's a friend. He's taking you somewhere safe.

  The man had realized she was awake. He glanced down at her, and then slowed the bike and pulled off on the shoulder of the road. The wind died down. The bike's roar lowered to a rumble. They came to a stop, and their eyes met.

  She remembered his face. God, he was gorgeous. Skin tanned, almost bronze, with harsh leonine cheekbones and a wind tousled mane to match. Firm, almost serious lips, a strong nose, and burning gold eyes that seared her through to her core. She was held against his old leather jacket, but even through its stiff surface she could feel his muscled frame.

  "Um, hi." The silence ached around them. They were way outside Fort Brixton - she could see the lights of the city illuminating the underside of the clouds behind them, but out here only a single orange roadside street lamp every few hundred yards held back the darkness. The air was rich with the smell of pine needles and loam, humid from the recent rains.

  "Hey there." His voice was a low rumble in his chest, and the power of it stirred something deep within her, lit a small fire that made her want to squeeze her legs. "How you feeling?"

  "I'm - I don't know." She knew she should be pushing herself up, getting off the bike, but it felt delicious to lie there against him, cradled by his arm. Which wasn't shaking at all, despite however long he'd been holding her. She felt like he was strong enough to hold her forever.

  "My name's Dylan. I'm glad I was close by when your... friend found me."

  Reality began to pierce the moony warmth and arousal that was swamping her mind. He could see Illixy. Nobody had ever, ever been able to see him. Forget that. Stark. He had turned into a monster. And - her eyes widened, and with a small cry she jumped off his bike and staggered out onto the narrow one lane country road. Dylan. He'd turned into a monster too.

  Dylan didn't make a move to stop her. He leaned back on his bike, Illixy hovering at his shoulder.

  "You - Stark - you're both -"

  He nodded, face grave. His eyes seemed to glow like those of a wolf reflecting light. "Yes. Werewolves."

  You're not going mad, Naomi. Illixy's voice was warm, comforting. You're just finally learning the truth.

  Naomi stood there, shaking. There was nowhere to run, and Illixy, her torment and constant companion since birth, was right there, telling her it was okay. She wanted to sink down on the road. Her mind quavered. Werewolves.

  Perhaps other women might have screamed. Denied. Tried to rationalize it. But Naomi had spent her life coming to terms with the impossible, with the glowing, talking sphere of energy and light that had been her friend for as long as she could remember.

  "Werewolves," she whispered.

  Dylan nodded. "Children of the Earth Mother. Though Stark... he's turned his back on the light. He's no longer one of us. Though in truth, there are so few of us left."

  She ran both hands through her hair. Her heart was fluttering. He was watching her so seriously, with such a look of sadness on his face that she wanted to comfort him. Take him in her arms and hold him tight, erase the pain from his heart.

  Slowly, hesitantly, she walked back over. Insects were chirping from the dark trees that lined the shoulder. She placed a hand on one of the handlebars. So many questions. She didn't know where to begin.

  Dylan's eyes bored into her. She had never felt such a primal attraction to a man before in her life. Chemistry, yes. This burning need to approach him, to touch him, to feel his skin under her fingers, to kiss him, to press the full length of her body against his hard and unyielding frame - never.

  "I'm taking you somewhere safe." His voice was husky, as if he too felt this burning desire. His eyes were shadowed. "Somewhere Stark can't find you."

  "Why does he want to kill me?" Casual cruelty she was used to. Snide looks from other women who resented the confidence with which she inhabited her voluptuous body. But outright malice? Evil? Never.

  "That's... complicated. Come. Let's get to Anna's. I'll tell you everything there."

  "Okay." She hesitated. Her heart beat faster at the thought of getting back on the bike with him. "Shall I...?"

  "Here." He h
eld out his hand, and as she took it he gracefully turned her as if they were dancing so that she fell back into the crook of his arm, and then she was up on the bike, against his chest once more, breathing in his smell. He smelled of cedar, the woods, clean and intoxicating.

  She looked up at his handsome face. "My name's Naomi."

  He gunned the engine of the bike and smiled down at her. "I know." Then he held her tight, and the bike flowed forward onto the road.

  They raced along the country roads. If Fort Brixton was behind them, then they had to be heading toward Muskegon. But they were deep in the woods, the lanes lonely and without homes along its length, which meant they were driving through Manistee National Park. Curious, she held onto the lapel of his coat, and pressed her cheek against his shoulder.

  Ten minutes later, they turned off the asphalt lane onto a dirt road, which they followed for five minutes till it ended in a small clearing beside a large, wooden house. It was two stories tall, with enough space under its roof for an attic, wide and broad and built of stout logs. The headlight of the bike illuminated rocking chairs on the porch and shutters pulled closed over the broad windows.

  "Where are we?"

  Dylan leaned back and swung her gently the ground. She couldn't get over how strong he was. "This is Anna's House. Anna's long gone, but her tradition of hospitality to our kind and kin remains." He got off the bike. "It's a safe house. Where those traveling through can spend the night, and those of our blood can live under my pack's protection."

  "Oh." So much she didn't know.

  He took her hand as if it was the most natural thing in the world. His palm was callused and dry, his fingers long and firm. "Come. Let's get inside."

  He led her up onto the porch and she realized with a start that there was an old man seated in one of the rocking chairs with a pipe in his mouth and a shotgun between his knees.

  "Jeb, this is Naomi." Dylan gave the man a nod as they passed, and the man nodded back, eyes hidden in the gloom of the porch.

  "Dylan." Was that respect in the old man's voice? He looked to her. "Welcome."

  "Thanks." Before she could speak further, Dylan pushed open the front door, and led her inside.

  Naomi fell in love with Anna's House right there and then. Softly lit by turned down lamps, she immediately saw half a dozen nooks where she would love to curl up. Window seats, old leather armchairs, a beat up old chaise-longue by the stone fireplace, a thick pile of cushions in a deep alcove under the stairs. Everything was rich, lustrous wood or faded old chocolate leather, with hanging copper pots gleaming from an open kitchen to the left to a round dinner table to the right. Massive rugs with deep piles were strewn across the floor, and the walls were adorned with framed photographs of smiling people, with faded landscape photographs and children's exuberant drawings.

  The air was still, the kind of heavy hush that comes when a house is full of sleeping people, and Naomi followed Dylan over to the stairs. Dylan raised a hand to wave to a young woman seated at a small table in the kitchen, a book before her and mug in one hand, and she raised a hand to wave back.

  Then they were padding up the broad steps to the second floor, Illixy floating and weaving behind them, onto the landing, down to the second door to the left, and inside a large bedroom.

  Dylan closed the door with a soft click. "You can rest here tonight."

  She looked around. A heavy wood-framed bed covered with a gorgeous hand-made quilt. An old fashioned hardwood dresser, a small bookcase, and a writing desk under the window. Simple, welcoming, and smelling of home.

  She took a few steps in, and turned back to him. "Whose room is this?"

  Dylan leaned back against the door and folded his arms over his chest. "Mine. You're welcome to it. I'll sleep downstairs on the couch."

  She almost opened her mouth to say something foolish, to protest and invite him to stay, but blushed furiously instead and quickly turned to the window. "What's going to happen to me?"

  She tried to keep the note of despair from her voice, but Dylan must have heard it. She felt him walk up behind her. He was giving off such an intense heat that it felt like standing before an open oven door. A dangerous heat. An undeniable intensity.

  "I wish I could tell you." His voice was soft. "I wish I could promise you things will work out. But I don't know that."

  She turned. He was right there, only a foot away. She wanted to run her fingers through his hair. Put her hand on his chest. He was so young, but he wore the mantle of quiet authority and confidence of a man twice his age. A leader, she knew. Dominant. She felt like she already knew him: quiet, gentle, but when roused to anger, as unstoppable as a forest fire, a flash flood, a raging storm. When roused to anger or passion...

  She blushed again. What was wrong with her? Why was she responding to his presence so physically?

  "Naomi." The way he said her voice was almost like a caress. His voice low, masculine. She could listen to him all night long. "Tell me about your parents."

  "My parents?" Confusion. She pushed her fingers through her hair again - god it was a mess. She needed a brush, a mirror, time to get herself together. "I - they were good people. Did their best for me." She always felt uncomfortable talking about them. A memory slipped before her mind: her father, lips tight, driving her to the therapist after she'd repeated what Illixy had told her about his special female friend at work.

  Dylan licked his lower lip as he narrowed his eyes, clearly trying to find the right away to ask the question. "They ever mention your extended family?"

  She nodded. "Most of them are out in Ohio. Some cousins down in Tampa. Oh." She realized what he was getting at, and felt like a fool. "I see. No, I don't know my real family. I was adopted when I was just three."

  "Adopted." He didn't sound surprised at all. He nodded. "There's so much to tell you, but we've so little time. You're kinfolk, Naomi. Born of our blood. One of your parents may have been a werewolf, or a grandparent, but our fire burns in you. Werewolves... we can't have offspring with each other. The fire burns too brightly within us, and no child born of two werewolf parents survives the pregnancy. But we can mate with kin. Relatives who never changed into a wolf." He caught her wide eyed look and laughed, "No, not like that. There are many, many different families. We're not all related. But if we wish to have werewolf children, we must mate with kin."

  The way he spoke about mating was so casual. It drove home just what he was - a werewolf. She tried to act professional. "I see. So what you're saying is that I can have werewolf children?" She couldn't believe the words coming out of her mouth.

  "More than that." He moved forward subtly. Closed the distance between them just a fraction more. Naomi's mouth went dry. She was suddenly, terribly aware of their being alone in this room. Nothing between them but a few thin layers of clothing and an inch of air. His eyes held her gaze, and she couldn't have looked away if she wanted. "You're special, Naomi. You have a totem-seed by your side."

  "A totem-seed?" Her voice was all dreamy, and then realization snapped in. "You mean Illixy?"

  "Illixy?" Dylan smiled briefly, and then nodded. "Yes. He is a spirit of great potential. Great power. Werewolf packs, they work together as one under a totem spirit. A spiritual guide who unites us, gives us powers beyond even our might, lets us fight the darkness on even terms."

  "Oh." She was barely keeping up. She glanced down at his capable hands. The veins on their backs, the long fingers. Remembered their touch. The fine golden hairs that caught the lamplight. She raised her gaze. "That sounds... really important." What was she even saying?

  "More than you know. My pack. The Silver Song pack. Our alpha was killed last year, and our totem destroyed." Such pain there. An old wound, a burning grief. She saw the distress that voicing those words brought to him, the glimmer in his eyes, and immediately put one hand on his chest, wanting to comfort him somehow.

  "I'm so sorry." She searched for words. Nothing seemed suitable. "And Illixy could help?"


  "Yes." His voice became husky. She imagined she could feel his heart beating through his jacket. He shifted closer, and touched her just above the waist, a gentle caress that sent electric sparks running down her body. "Illixy could grow into our pack totem. Could unite the Silver Song once more. But only if..." He trailed off. He stepped in again, and brushed her cheek with his. The faint rasp of a day's growth of beard. Her nipples tightened beneath the cotton of her bra, almost aching as they brushed lightly against him. She wanted to lean into his hard body, press herself against him.

  "Only if...?" She prompted him, mind swirling. He was magnetic. Feral, yet gentle, commanding, yet tender. She wanted to draw out his fire, see him burn for her, and heal his wounds all at the same time. A wounded alpha.

  "Only if the alpha of the Silver Song takes Illixy's kin companion as his mate." His words were whispered into her ear, his voice hoarse, and she realized he was trembling, restraining himself. He kissed the nape of her neck, and she felt the faint touch of his teeth as he nipped her flesh gently. His hand slid around her waist to her back and pulled her body flush against his. She groaned, pressed her herself against his chest. Thoughts blew through her mind like falling leaves.

  He tilted her chin back and kissed the hollow of her throat, the cupped her cheek with his palm and ran his thumb over her lips. A fire was simmering in her core, and she knew it would take very little to let it slip and set herself completely aflame. She barely knew him, yet she wanted him like nothing before. She ran her hands across his broad back, tracing the curls and ridges of his muscles, and then, with every ounce she had, took him by the shoulders and pushed him gently back.

  Dylan gazed down at her, his golden eyes alight with desire. She took a deep breath, and before she could speak he stepped back. Her body cried out for him, but the rational part of her, the part that had grown up in the city and learned to survive on the streets reined in that impulse.

  "I'm... sorry." His voice was husky. "With the females of my pack, mating is... casual. Joyous. Simple. I've not been with a human in a very long time." He smiled brokenly at her.