Alpha’s Obsession

by Rose, Renee

  It was out here in these mountains where I almost lost my humanity forever. If it hadn’t been for Jackson, I’d be nothing more than an extremely dangerous animal right now.

  But my wolf isn’t thinking about running wild over the mountains. He’s tracking Layne. And he doesn’t give a shit about the data drive, either.

  I surrender to my animal, loping down the hills, staying in the brush, but keeping the road in sight. I honestly don’t know how I track Layne. I don’t have her scent but something compels me forward, the image of her in my mind, the memory of her intelligent green eyes, such a surprising pairing with her shiny black hair.

  I find the van down in Alpine, tucked in the back of a diner parking lot. I leave the bundle of clothing by the van and crawl forward in the brush, my instincts going haywire. I can’t figure out why until I see a car screech up to the front of the diner. Black, unmarked—the sort Data-X security would drive. Layne flies out of the restaurant door like the human assholes getting out are her fucking salvation.

  Sure enough, one of the thugs grabs her, pressing a gun to her temple. “Where’s the data?”

  Her choked gasp scrapes my every nerve.

  I might have had more caution in human form, but my wolf goes berserk. I charge, snarling, and launch right onto the top of the car. Surprise works in my favor, and Asshole #1 drops the gun from Layne’s head. I seize my chance and hurl myself at him, knocking him to the ground. The gun falls to the ground with a clatter.

  My teeth sink into flesh. Not his throat, sadly, just his upper arm.

  A gunshot rings out and something stings my shoulder blade. Layne scrambles for the gun on the asphalt. I flip a turn and lunge for Asshole #2, who just put a bullet in me, before he can shoot her.

  It gives her the time she needs to get around the corner. I hear her feet pound toward the van.

  I take another hit, this time in my shoulder before I disarm Asshole #2. Gawkers from the diner come to the door and Asshole #1 is staggering up, so I streak around the other side of the building to catch up with Layne.

  She’s just opened the van door when I shove up behind her, trying to scramble in. She shrieks and slams the door shut on my body. It bounces back open and she kicks at me. I shift, already scooping her the rest of the way into the van as I come onto two legs.

  Her scream dies on her lips, probably because she stopped breathing. I toss her on the passenger seat, grab my clothes and climb in. Like a repeat of the scene a few hours ago at the lab, I throw the van into gear and reverse, screaming out of the parking lot like a firetruck going to a five alarm flame.

  I shove the ball of my clothing over my cock, which unfortunately is flying at full mast thanks to Layne’s presence.

  “Seatbelt, Layne.”

  She finally sucks in a breath, hands moving mechanically for the seatbelt. “Y-you’re bleeding.”

  I glance down at my shoulder. “It’s fine.” I’m actually surprised at the amount of blood still coming out of it. My shifter healing abilities should already be working the bullet out by now.

  “Who are you?” she asks.

  “Sam. Sam Smith.” I have a constant watch on the rearview mirror, but I don’t see any sign of the Data-X assholes following us. Maybe they decided fighting a wolf was more than they signed up for.

  “I mean what are you?” her voice wobbles, face is pale under her freckles.

  “I’m a shifter. You didn’t think those regenerating cells came from humans, did you?”

  The sound that comes from her lips is one part whimper, one part moan. It does nothing to alleviate my aching boner.

  My hands tighten on the wheel as I tear back up the mountainside toward the safe house I secured before I went into Data-X’s lab. “How did they find us? You called them?” I’m still half-insulted, half-impressed that she used the tranq gun on me earlier. Which reminds me—I grab it now and hurl it in the back of the van, out of her reach.

  She pulls out my burner phone, which she must have taken when she stole the van, and stares at the blank screen. Her hand shakes so badly the phone slips out of it and drops to the floor. She doesn’t move to pick it up.

  She’s in shock.

  “Layne?”

  “They didn’t come to save me.” Her voice sounds far away. “They just wanted the data.”

  I’m annoyed by her continued faith in Data-X. “No shit, sweetheart. Haven’t we already had this conversation? They think you’re with me. You’re expendable. The research is not.”

  She turns her shocked gaze on me, eyes dropping down to the gunshot wound, then bouncing back to my face. Blood still runs down my side. Too much blood. They must have done something to those bullets to affect my regeneration abilities.

  “A shifter.” Awe cloaks the words. “A werewolf.”

  “Yes,” I admit. I hadn’t planned on the show and tell, but what’s done is done. I’ll figure out what to do with her and her forbidden knowledge of our kind when this is all over.

  “That’s why the light spectrum activated the cells.”

  “What do you mean?” I ask sharply.

  “I used a spectrum similar to moonlight and the cells changed.”

  I make a non-committal sound. She thinks I’m the beast from the movies who can’t help but change during the full moon. Whatever. I don’t need to illuminate her, especially if I’m going to have to get her memories wiped by a leech, anyway.

  I cut down a nearly non-existent dirt road that winds around and ends up in front of a mobile home.

  I get out and pull on my clothes, angling my back to Layne so she won’t see how hard I am for her. I open the door to the back of the van, pulling out a med kit and duct tape. If Layne’s going to keep running, I’ll have to secure her like a real hostage.

  When she climbs out of the van, I pull her wrists behind her back and tape them together with the duct tape. “I’m sorry, doctor, but I can’t have you shooting me or running off again.”

  She fights the bonds as I lead her up to the door.

  “Wait here,” I order, and precede her into the safe house. The simple mobile home is bare but for my equipment. I walk through the place, checking to be sure it’s empty before inviting her in.

  Paranoid, yes. Anyone with nightmares like mine would be.

  “What is this place?” She glances around the empty rooms.

  “Safe.” She turns in a circle in the middle of the tiny living room.

  “Here.” I open a bottle of water and bring it to her lips.

  She swallows and chokes, dribbling liquid down her chin.

  I’m consumed by the desire to lick it off her, to suck that pouty lower lip into my mouth and taste her.

  She pulls away from me, scowling, and turns her back.

  I ignore my wolf’s distress at offending her and check my burner phone. Several messages. Got to be all from Kylie. She’s the only one good enough to track me.

  “Stay away from the windows,” I bark when Layne drifts that way. Which is stupid. My wolf senses would hear anyone’s approach and everything is quiet. Still, I have this itchy need to protect her and the memory of that asshole holding a gun on her is all too fresh.

  She glares at me and plops down on the hard sofa. I leave her to power up my computer and insert the data drive. Instantly, it starts downloading, making several copies saved to my private servers. I debate sending a copy to Kylie. She’d help sift through the data, but bringing her in means putting her and Jackson in danger. I can’t risk that. Especially with Jaylin, their newborn pup. Or kitten. We won't know until puberty.

  Although maybe the good doctor Zhao here has some way of deciphering shifter genes now.

  My arm’s going numb, and I rub it absently.

  “I-I think you need to get to a hospital or something.” She’s staring at my back.

  I crane my neck around and realize the back of my shirt is also soaked with blood.

  Fuck. Two bullets.

  With a grunt, I head to the bat
hroom, stripping off my shirt to examine the wounds in the mirror. One bullet lodged itself deep in my shoulder. The other seems to be embedded in my scapula. Neither are too serious—my shifter blood would typically work it out, but knowing Data-X, the bullets are silver or some shit cooked up in a lab to prevent my normal healing. Smyth’s men are used to subduing shifters.

  A whimper makes me turn. Layne stands in the bathroom door, looking stricken.

  “I’m all right,” I tell her, even though now that I’m aware of the bullets, the wounds sting. “It’s nothing.”

  “It’s not nothing,” she says with the same passion that she defended her research. “You’ve been shot. Twice. You need medical attention.”

  I almost laugh. “No hospitals, sweetheart.”

  She presses her lips together, and I recognize the look. Her stubbornness is about to rear its head.

  “Med kit,” I say before she can start to rant. I whirl her around and bust apart the duct tape with shifter force. “On the coffee table in the living room. Bring the duct tape, too.”

  “Why, so you can tie me up again?” she huffs, but she’s bee-lined it for the living room.

  “Technically, it’s not tying,” I call after her. Fates, am I flirting? I think this might be my lame-ass way of conversing with the lovely scientist.

  I had no idea I had so little game. My sex life up to this point has consisted of hookups from Eclipse, the nightclub where I bartend. I don’t have to win the girls over there, they have this natural enchantment with my position. Yeah, standing behind the bar and slinging drinks automatically makes me special. In the tiny microcosm of popular nightclubs, the guy who controls the liquor has the power. As much power as the guy who controls the door. The girls bat their eyes and show their cleavage and I fuck them up against a wall. Or back at their place. I don’t spend the night. I don’t call the next day. End of story.

  I never contemplated a relationship because I know the cold, hard truth: I’m damaged. Un-mateable.

  Most days I barely keep the darkness away. My upbringing, if you can even call it that, coupled with the multiple traumas of my post-puberty lab testing and moon madness make me emotionally distant at best. Fucknuts crazy at worst.

  Layne returns holding the med kit and, unbelievably, the duct tape.

  Obedient thing. Maybe she thought I needed it for something other than her wrists.

  She rolls her eyes. “Tape me up, then. That doesn’t sound as good. You know, I really don’t think this med kit is going to cut—”

  “I’m not going to a hospital. Smyth’s men might be looking for me there. If they find us, they’ll want to finish the job.”

  Her mouth snaps shut. The fear is back in her, but she flips open the med kit and snaps on a pair of gloves. “Let me.”

  “Are you a medical doctor?”

  “No,” she huffs. “But I was pre-med. And I can figure it out.”

  I study her face as she concentrates on cleaning the blood away from the wound in my shoulder. Frowning with focus, she’s still lovely, her features stunning and dainty at the same time. Her porcelain skin is smooth and perfect, cheekbones high.

  “I think there’s a bullet in there.” She grimaces.

  “I know.” I keep my voice normal as pain radiates up and down my arm.

  “Sit down.” She lifts her chin toward the toilet.

  I shrug and plop down on the lid. When she angles her body to stand between my knees, I stifle a groan. Her breasts are mouth-height, begging to be nipped. Her scent fills my nostrils and my wolf scrambles to the surface.

  Down, boy.

  A wolf shouldn’t want to mark a human, but mine seems to think Layne is my mate. Well, it’s not a surprise to discover I’m fucked up in a yet another way—unable to detect the difference between a human mate and a shifter. I was an idiot to allow my animal instincts to guide me when I grabbed her.

  Now, she’s a distraction from my real purpose—eliminating Smyth.

  She rips open a pack of sterilized tools and bows her head to her work. It feels like she’s digging around in my shoulder. Her ponytail falls down and tickles my cheek.

  Sweet Jesus. I want to throw her down and fuck her until tomorrow.

  “Oh, sorry.” She notices the ponytail and tosses it back. “Am I hurting you? I must be.”

  A memory flashes. The darkness throbs around me, closes in. The lab is dark, or maybe my vision is just dim. I’m strapped to a chair for torture. Pain threshold tests, is what they called it. Smyth hitting me with every form of torture imaginable to measure my reactions, my regeneration.

  A growl erupts from my throat.

  Layne shrieks and stumbles back. I catch her, reaching for her waist, but palming her ass instead.

  “It’s okay,” I assure her and pull her between my legs, hand still gripping the soft curve of her posterior. Touching her makes the darkness lighten. The weight on my chest eases.

  “What was that? Did I hurt you?”

  My brain tells my hand to let go, but of course I squeeze first, before I release her. “Sorry!” I say quickly, holding my palms up. “I wasn’t trying to grope you.”

  I’m such a fucking liar.

  “What was that sound you made?”

  I shake my head, trying to clear the remnants of the memory. “Nothing.” She probably already knows I’m a cracked nut, but my foolish wolf pride keeps me from admitting just how shattered a human I am. “I’m fine. You didn’t hurt me.”

  She presses her lips together but her hand trembles as she returns to digging in my shoulder.

  I can’t help it—I wrap my fingers around her leg, lightly gripping her thigh. Her warmth seeps through my skin, seems to run into my bloodstream like a drug, calming the flicker of madness, the mindless beast within me, tearing to get free.

  I rack my brain for something casual to say and end up blurting, “You’re hot for a geek.” For fuck’s sake. I’m a goddamn idiot.

  “Gee, thanks,” she says, still focused on her work. “If that’s your best line, no wonder you have to kidnap girls to get them to talk to you.”

  I flinch and not because the pinch in my arm. She’s right to think I’m a psycho. The cracks in my sanity can’t be repaired. Hell, I don’t even know why I’m alive, except that fate must’ve wanted me to make it this far so I can shut Smyth down.

  In another world, another life, I could be the type of guy to take a girl on a date. Normal.

  Dr. Zhao would be just my type—the sexy genius. Layne, my wolf nudges.

  “So you don’t think I have any game?” Shut up, shut up. You put a gun on her, took her hostage and threatened to bomb her place of work. Now you’re hitting on her?

  To my surprise, a smile flickers across her face before fading into a serious look of concentration.

  “Hold still.” A twinge, and blood pours from my arm. “There.” She shows me the blood-stained bullet before she drops it in the sink. “Next time, bring me flowers.”

  My laugh bursts out of me. Layne busies herself with cleaning and bandaging me up. I could tell her there’s no need, that my shifter healing will take over now that the silver’s out, but I like her fussing over me.

  “Turn around,” she orders and I flip position on the toilet, straddling it to offer my back.

  “This one isn’t so deep, but…” She sucks her breath in over her teeth.

  “What?”

  “I think it broke your scapula.”

  “Don’t worry about that,” I dismiss. “As soon as the silver’s out, I’ll regenerate.”

  She goes still for a moment. “Silver bullets to kill a werewolf? That’s a real thing?”

  I don’t answer, because she doesn’t need to know about my kind. To distract her, I ask, “How old are you?”

  “Twenty-five.” She prods my wound and I hear the scrape of metal on bone.

  “Pretty young for a doctor.”

  “I started grad school when I was seventeen.”

  “H
ow’d you get into college so young?”

  “Tutors.” She drops another bloody bullet on the counter. “It’s out.”

  “Still…” I do the math in my head. “Four years for a bachelor’s degree—”

  “Two actually. I tested out of a bunch of undergrad classes. Advanced track pre-med. Then I switched to genetics and a got a research internship.”

  I whistle. “So you’re a genius.”

  She swabs the area with more alcohol and rips open a bandage. “No. Just driven. And I don’t get out much.” She strips off her gloves and studies me as I’ve been studying her.

  “Skip the bandage. I think I’ll take a shower.” Blood is still crusted down my side and around the waistband of my black jeans. “Thanks for getting the bullets out.”

  “You’re welcome. I’d say anytime, but I’d rather this not be a regular thing.”

  “Understood.”

  I pick up the duct tape and pull off a piece.

  ~.~

  Layne

  I guess I’m the stupid one for bringing the duct tape into the bathroom. I really thought he needed it for taping his wounds shut or something.

  Still, I’m miffed as hell that he even thinks he needs to tape my hands. I put my hands on my hips. “I just pulled two bullets out of you. Are you seriously going to—”

  He grabs my hands and presses them down on the bathroom countertop. Before I can pull away, he presses a long piece of duct tape over the top of them, securing me to the fake marble surface.

  “That won’t hold me.”

  Or maybe it will. I tug uselessly at it as he slaps a second and third piece on top.

  I splutter. Why in the hell couldn’t he have just taped my wrists together behind my back again? Did he have to tape me to the sink? “This position is utterly humiliating,” I complain. I’m bent over at the waist, facing the mirror like a child with her nose in the corner.

  As if he just noticed how sexual the pose, he’s suddenly right up against me, the heat of his lean body pressing against my back. The bulge of his cock brushes my posterior and I’m reminded of his erection after he’d shifted.