Love Letters from an Alpha

by Anya Byrne

  Some people might have deemed it romantic, and maybe it was. But it was also cowardly, a way to fill the hole in Luther's heart when he'd been unable to take that final step. The whole debacle with the Lone Wolf Pack had showed him that quite clearly. He couldn't hide behind love letters forever. If he truly loved and respected his mate, he had to choose—either let him live in peace as a human, or take the chance and believe.

  Tonight, he'd finally made the choice. Of course, there was always the possibility that his mate would refuse. Correspondence was entirely different to actually meeting someone face to face, and in Luther's eagerness, he might have come out a bit more eager than he'd have liked. For all he knew, his mate might be thinking that he was a stalker or an axe murderer of sorts.

  Grumbling under his breath, Luther drank down the rest of his scotch and ordered another. As the refill arrived, a very familiar and welcome presence joined him by the bar.

  Luther immediately turned toward his longtime friend. "Did you deliver it?"

  Victoria nodded, her familiar dark eyes glittering with something knowing and sad. "Of course. By now, he must have found it." She sighed. "How long are you planning on doing this, Luther? It's not healthy, neither for you, nor for him."

  "I know that," Luther replied quietly. "And you know as well as I do that I had my reasons."

  "Your mother wouldn't have wanted you to shy away from your mate because of what happened to her," Victoria whispered, her voice barely audible despite Luther's advanced senses.

  Luther's hold on the glass tightened, and he quickly set it down before he cracked it. The fact that Victoria had even mentioned the delicate topic spoke volumes of her concern for Owen.

  But then, she had always made it clear that she liked the young human. In fact, if Luther had been anyone else other than her best friend, she'd have probably torn him apart before allowing all of this to continue for so long. Proving his point, she continued, "I know her loss won't ever stop hurting, but she and your father loved one another."

  "And that only earned them both death, because they were so different," Luther couldn't help but hiss out.

  "I think that, if they had a choice, they'd say it was worth it."

  She was right, Luther knew that. He'd always known it, even when he'd been unable to keep his distance from Owen. Owen, who was human, like Luther's mother had been. He'd loved her so much, and it was so easy to imagine losing Owen the same way he'd lost her. For that reason, he'd tried so hard and done his best to put some sort of barrier between them. He'd been truly convinced that it was the only way to protect Owen. Now, he couldn't feel that way anymore.

  "It's going to end tonight, V," he told his longtime friend, "one way or another. It depends on him. It's all in his hands."

  Victoria blinked in surprise. "What? Why? What did you do?"

  "I asked to meet him. I want to tell him, to explain." He rubbed his eyes tiredly. "I want to do this right, V, to start over, to give him everything he needs. He shouldn't have to take his clothes off for a living. I know you take care of him, and I'm grateful for that, but..."

  Victoria reached for his hand and squeezed it tightly. "A lot of the men who work here are in trouble one way or another. You know that the only thing I want—the only thing I've ever wanted is to help them. But this time around, there's only so much that I can do. You're the one that he needs."

  "Maybe," Luther whispered, "but that just means I failed him all the more."

  Victoria didn't reply, and Luther was thankful for that. Out of everyone in his life, she was the only one who didn't bullshit him. She didn't blame him for his choices—she was more aware than anyone of his reasons—but neither did she justify them or provide empty assurances. In a way, that was more comforting than anything she could have said.

  One of Victoria's bouncers finally approached just as Luther finished his second drink. "Ink is leaving," the man whispered in her ear.

  She nodded and dismissed her employee with a wave. Luther was already on his feet, ready to go. Owen hadn't approached Victoria to ask her about him. What did that mean? Was it a good thing or a bad thing?

  "Good luck, Luther," his friend told him with a smile. "I expect you to let me know what happens—and if I need a new dancer."

  Her tone suggested that she believed Owen might be amenable to what Luther had in mind, but he couldn't afford bringing his hopes up. If he did and if it turned out his mate rejected him, he would never recover. Instead of replying, he kissed her hand, then turned on his heel and left the club.

  He waited at the entrance of the alley that led into the back of the establishment, knowing that any time now his mate would be showing up. He could practically feel it, buzzing over his skin, the awareness of Owen's proximity increasing more and more. He closed his eyes and let his senses flow, falling back onto the powers given to him by his hybrid nature.

  With his mind's eye, he watched the alleyway. At first, he could only see the bouncer, and while he could have pressed further, it turned out that he didn't have to. The door opened, and his mate stepped out of the club.

  It wasn't the first time Luther had seen Owen without the incubus mask. He'd tried to rein in his power, but sometimes, it simply refused to obey, and he found himself drifting, seeking out his other half. An ability of astral projection could be really difficult to handle for a werewolf who wanted nothing more than to be by his mate's side.

  Owen didn't linger to chat with the bouncer, which was a good thing, given that Luther would have probably had a bad reaction to that. Thankfully, his mate was already heading his way, so Luther quickly released his hold on his astral self and gathered his composure, affecting a nonchalance he did not feel.

  Finally, Owen came out of the alleyway, only to freeze in his tracks when he saw Luther. A few seconds ticked past, and then Owen took a deep breath and crossed the rest of the distance between them. "Hi," the human whispered, fidgeting slightly. "I take it you're... waiting for me."

  Luther swallowed around the knot in his throat, his aloof demeanor flying straight out the window. Yes, he'd been waiting—but longer than Owen imagined, and longer than he should have. He'd wanted to have a mate for centuries, and then, when he'd found out the mate in question was human, he'd reacted in a way that now filled him with shame and frustration.

  He couldn't hope to articulate that, not just yet. The words that would have come easily when written on paper refused to be let out through his vocal cords. "Yes," he said lamely.

  They succumbed to silence, neither of them moving a muscle. Luther's wolf was snarling at him to do something. This was definitely not the way he'd wanted the meeting to go. He didn't want this awkwardness, this silence that threatened to swallow all of Luther's hopes.

  But the fact of the matter was that they were both very aware of their current circumstances, which were peculiar to say the least. They hadn't met at all, but Owen was perhaps one of the few people in Luther's life who knew his doubts and burdens. However, he most definitely did not know about Luther being an Alpha werewolf—and half-human, to boot—and he was already wary because of the way Luther had chosen to approach this.

  Well, Luther hadn't come this far to back down. "I see you got my letters."

  That drew a small, bashful smile from Owen. "Yes. Thank you. I... I really loved the roses."

  "I'm glad. I was hoping they weren't too much like a present for you to accept them."

  "Even if they had been, I don't think I could have refused." Owen reached into his coat and retrieved the carefully preserved rose. He caressed the bloom and leaned forward to take in the perfume of the flower. "They're so real."

  Luther was momentarily hypnotized by the beautiful sight of Owen's full lips. They were almost as red as the flower petals, and Luther ached to taste them, to claim their owner. But he and Owen weren't ready for that, not nearly ready. They had to take things one step at a time, and the roses were a good enough ice breaker.

  "Real is probably a good de
scriptor. I've been growing them for years."

  "Truly?" Owen looked surprised. "You grow them yourself?"

  Luther nodded. "In honor of my mother. She used to love them..."

  That was a bad thing to bring up, since it summoned sad memories and caused his mind to make unpleasant connections. He quickly fixed it by changing the subject. "In any case... Have you had dinner? I'd like to take you out, somewhere nice."

  His offer was not received with as much enthusiasm as he had hoped. "I'm not exactly dressed for a date," his mate replied, slumping his shoulders.

  "Don't worry about that," Luther answered. When Owen didn't seem convinced, Luther decided to be completely honest. "Here's the thing. I'm... I'm not good at explaining, but I want to, and I want you to be comfortable with me while we talk. We could go to Burger King if you'd rather, but I just... I think you deserve so much more. For months, I've wanted to give you more than I could, and I... I suppose I'm frustrated."

  "You don't have to give me anything," came the soft reply.

  "I know." Moon be blessed, this was so difficult. Humans didn't understand an Alpha's instinct to provide for his mate, and the situation twisted that urge into something entirely different. "Just one chance, Owen. Please trust me. I promise, I won't let you down."

  It was a gamble, because his mate had no real reason to put his faith in Luther. Thankfully, it worked. After a small moment of hesitation, Owen nodded. "On one condition. You're going to have to tell me how you know V, and why she told you my name when it's supposed to be confidential."

  Luther's eyes widened. Fuck. It looked like his mate wasn't one to take any shit, and for all his Alpha instincts, his balls almost shriveled and died at the piercing look Owen gave him.

  "It's a very long story, and you might not believe it."

  "Well... I guess you're just going to have to try me."

  Luther nodded and prayed to the moon that he wouldn't make a huge mistake. "Very well. Now come on. I'd rather not have this conversation here."

  He offered Owen his arm, and this time, his mate didn't hesitate. He took it, and the moment they first touched, electricity sparked between them. Luther's cock had already been rock hard—he lived in a constant state of sexual torment whenever he was around Owen—but he almost came in his pants at that simple contact.

  Owen wasn't exactly immune to it either, releasing a soft gasp that tempted Luther more than he could have ever expressed. It was just as well that he had a lot of practice in restraint, because it seemed his mate would test every bit of that control.

  Reining in his wolf and his arousal, Luther guided Owen toward his limo. As he walked, he wondered how the members of the Lone Wolf Pack had managed to prepare their mates for the revelation that everything they knew was a lie. How was he supposed to tell Owen that he was a werewolf and they were soul mates? He had no idea—but he hoped when the time came, they'd both be ready. From this point on, there was no turning back, for either of them.

  Chapter Two

  Everybody knew that it was a bad idea to get in a car with a stranger. Owen would have told himself not to be rash, but for some reason, he didn't find it necessary. As he slid into Luther's black limo, he wasn't in the least bit afraid. In fact, he felt safe, more than a little aroused, but secure in the knowledge that Luther wouldn't actually do anything to harm him.

  How did he know that? It was quite easy. His wariness had vanished the more he listened to Luther's voice. He could easily imagine Luther's smooth baritone saying the words that had been written down in the letters Owen so treasured. And yes, he had noticed that Luther was a little nervous, but that didn't scare him. If anything, it soothed Owen, and it gave him the feeling that he could control the whirlwind of emotion threatening to engulf him.

  Of course, he was fooling himself, at least in part, but it worked well enough in that it kept him coherent. "So, where are we going?" he asked.

  "To a restaurant I own," Luther replied. "It's pretty private, so we'll have a lot of space to ourselves. But, Owen... I want you to tell me if you feel uncomfortable at any time. I realize this is a lot to take in, and my life isn't exactly easy to understand."

  As the car started, Owen leaned against the leather seat and fixed Luther with a curious glance. "How so?"

  Luther didn't immediately reply, but Owen didn't prod. His patience paid off when Luther finally spoke, "First of all, what I'd like you to understand is that I've wanted to approach you for a while now. It's been difficult for me to keep my distance—more than you can ever imagine—but I thought it would be better for you, safer."

  "Safer?" Owen repeated in confusion. Just what in the world had he gotten himself into?

  "You asked me how I know V. Well, she and I have been friends for as long as I can remember. I'm what you call... the bastard son of a very important man. His family didn't agree with my parents' relationship, so one day, they tracked us down and killed my mother."

  Owen gasped. He'd expected anything but that. "Oh my God. That's awful." He and his mother had a difficult relationship, but he couldn't imagine losing her completely, not like that.

  "I was only a child. I won't... give you the gory details, but the gist of it is that I escaped, and V found me. For better or for worse, she's the one who raised me."

  Owen was in shock. "Did the police catch them?" he somehow managed to ask.

  "I later managed to bring them to justice and took over the family business." Luther's eyes were dark as he spoke, but Owen didn't want to push further, not when this was so obviously a painful topic. "I'll admit there's more to it than that, but I think I've given you enough scary facts for our first date."

  Luther reached for his hands and kissed them. "Just know this. I won't ever, ever hurt you. I only want to protect you, and I will always respect you."

  "I know that." Making an abrupt decision, Owen changed positions, sliding onto the backseat of the limo next to Luther. "I would have never come to the meeting if I didn't believe in us."

  Luther wrapped an arm around his shoulder and pulled him close, burying his nose in Owen's hair. He didn't try to do anything more, even if by rights, he could have. In all likelihood, Owen wouldn't have denied him. But Luther just held on, and Owen let him, realizing all too well that the emotional confession had affected Luther quite a lot.

  At some level, Owen knew it would be far wiser to run in the other direction. Luther had basically warned him outright. His life was dangerous, so much so that it had led to his mother getting killed. If Owen had any sense of self-preservation, he'd ask for the driver to stop the car and he'd get out. He didn't. Maybe it was because Luther had taken the chance to answer him honestly even if doing so involved such a risk, or maybe it was Owen's desire to comfort the other man. Whatever the reason was, he stayed, relaxing in Luther's embrace.

  "I'll never let them hurt you," Luther whispered fiercely in his ear. "I'll protect you—my beautiful rose."

  Owen shivered as Luther's fingers trailed over his neck and buried themselves in his hair. His eyes drifted closed and he waited for a kiss—but it never came. Instead, Luther pulled away and gently caressed Owen's cheek. "We're here."

  Owen struggled to shake off his haze of desire and was only moderately successful. "What? Where?"

  Luther gave him an amused look. "The restaurant, of course."

  Right. Owen had completely forgotten. In all honesty, he was half-tempted to tell Luther to skip the restaurant altogether, but he decided against it. He liked the intimacy gradually being created through their proximity and their conversation. Sexual tension sizzled between them, but if Luther had wanted just a fuck, he could have gotten it in a million other places—especially with his looks and his money.

  This was important, for both of them, beyond their differences and their social status. So Owen pushed past his slight discomfort and slid out of the limo.

  He didn't recognize the restaurant, but then, he'd never been to fancy places, and neither did he particularly wa
nt to go. More often than not, they catered to people who saw only superficial facades and didn't care about the true depth of a person. Much like the roses, such persons and locations were beautiful, but with no heart.

  Of course, Owen soon learned that making such all-encompassing judgments was unfair and liable to blow up in his face. Inside, the establishment was indeed all glitz and glamor, but Owen was led to a quiet VIP room that looked warm and cozy, decorated in masculine autumn colors, but softened by the omnipresent red roses.

  "I'm going to start feeling guilty because of all the roses you're giving me," he teased.

  "This is probably my cue to say something about a sacrifice in the name of romance, but to be honest, I didn't think about it all." Luther smiled. "They're here because you like them. I'm afraid I'm not always profound."

  They sat at the candlelit table that was already set out for them. "To be perfectly honest, I don't think we have to be," Owen replied. "This is our first date. I think we're allowed some time for pure and simple honesty."

  He set his elbows on the table and supported his chin on his hands, peering closer to Luther's face. In the candlelight, the man looked even more ruggedly handsome, and Owen wanted him in every possible way. "Favorite color?"

  Luther let out a small, startled laugh. "What? Are you kidding?"

  "Not at all. Answer the question."

  Luther thought for a bit, and then shrugged. "I don't think I have one. I'm partial to black, but it's not a color."

  Owen scoffed. "You're just saying that because my hair and my eyes are black. Are you trying to get into my pants, Mr..."

  He trailed off when he realized he had no idea what was Luther's last name, but his companion quickly fixed that. "It's Mr. Valentino. And maybe I am. Is it working?"

  "I think you're going to have to keep trying before you find out."

  "Fine by me. What about you? What's your favorite color?"

  "I'm actually partial to brown." Owen snickered. "I know. Weird. I mean... Whoever heard of someone's favorite color being brown? It's always blue, or red or purple—but never brown. Brown is plain."