Alpha Mate: BBW Paranormal Shifter Romance

by Natalie Kristen

  She hadn't cried when her father died.

  She hadn't cried for too long.

  Lucas simply held her, enveloping her within his powerful arms and letting his steady breathing and strong, rhythmic heartbeat soothe and calm her. She breathed in the smell of his bare skin, and pressed her palm against his heart, as her sobs quietened down.

  When she finally wiped away the last of her tears, she saw that she was sitting on his lap on the dirty floor, half naked with her t-shirt and bra pushed high over her breasts.

  Mortified, she scrambled up and tugged her bra and t-shirt back in place, and snatched up her pants and boots from the floor.

  Lucas stood up and watched her in silence as she wiggled desperately into her pants. Where were her panties? Oh right. He had torn into them with his teeth, ripping them right off her body.

  Heat crept up her neck and face as she clumsily dragged on her boots and flung her jacket over her shoulders.

  She blinked repeatedly, staring at his beautiful naked form just a few feet from her.

  Lucas was holding himself perfectly still, watching her quietly.

  Charlotte started to shake her head with a dawning horror.

  What had she done? What the fuck had she done?

  Without thinking, she snatched her dagger out from her jacket and closed the distance between them in a heartbeat.

  The point of her silver blade was pressed against Lucas's throat.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  “You gonna kill me?” Lucas asked. He had the good grace not to look amused.

  “Yes!” Her hand shook and she slowly withdrew her dagger. She exhaled painfully. “No.”

  Charlotte stepped away from him, looking defeated and angry. He heard her mumble under her breath, “What do I do now? I failed...”

  “Charlotte, listen to me...”

  “No!” She put out a hand, refusing to look at him. “I am not listening to you. You'll just tell me to let you pleasure me, and...I'll let you! Argh!” She clutched her head in both hands and marched away from him. “How could I have just...stripped? How could I be so, so horny?”

  Lucas folded his arms and listened to her string of self admonishments and recriminations. She was pacing up and down, twisting and wringing the front of her jacket, and occasionally glaring up at him.

  Lucas wanted to interrupt her and tell her that there was nothing wrong with her lusty reaction to him. Even if her mind resisted the fact that she was his mate, her body was unable to deny it. They would be forever drawn to each other, and their desire and hunger for each other would only grow stronger, peaking with each full moon.

  Wolf mates would call to each other during the full moon, and once claimed and marked under the full moon, they would be forever joined. Lucas had used to howl at the moon, calling out in vain for his fated mate and receiving no answer for the larger part of his long, long life. Until he had given up the idea of ever finding his mate.

  But now that he'd found her, he would be howling for her this full moon, and she would answer. Her body would know to answer, and she would be ready for his claim. A wolf always claimed his mate for the first time in the light of the full moon. Their backs would be bathed in that potent, lunar light, their naked bodies glistening in the moonlight as the wolf marked and claimed his mate. Her body had responded to him so sweetly tonight. Once the moon was full, her body would be so wild and wet she would scream for him. Her need would be excruciating, a need which could only be eased by him, her fated mate.

  Lucas scrubbed a hand over his face. How to explain all this to her without freaking her out? As it was, she was already seething with resentment and revulsion at her own raging desire for him, which he knew would only escalate and become more intense and uncontrollable as the moon inched towards its peak.

  Lucas cleared his throat.

  She stopped pacing and frowned at him. “What? Are you going to tell me to take off all my clothes again?” She scowled but he caught a trace of nervousness in her voice. She balled her fists and squared her shoulders, as if bracing herself for the command to strip.

  She knows that she'd want to obey.

  Lucas smiled. She was his mate. She would be powerless to resist him, just as he would never be able to resist her. He would want her always.

  Lucas shook his head. “Charlotte, there's something you should know. It'd be the full moon...in a few days' time. Three, to be exact. And when that happens...”

  “I know, I know. You become a wolf,” she cut him off impatiently. She was frantically doing up the buttons on her jacket, as if buttoning herself up would afford her some protection against his compelling command to strip. She obviously didn't trust herself right now.

  “No, I don't transform uncontrollably into a wolf during the full moon,” Lucas explained slowly. “Every shifter should be able to control their shift and their beast at all times. But—during the full moon, our...desire to mate would be that much stronger. Fated mates will call to, and answer, each other. They will take their mates, for the first time, under the light of the full moon. The desire, the hunger and need will be too powerful to resist. You...”

  “What has that got to do with me?” she asked quickly, her tone defiant, but her eyes were showing too much white.

  You're my mate.

  Lucas inhaled sharply, debating whether to say the words.

  “Mr Rieve,” she began stiffly, jerking up her chin. “Alpha. Sir.”

  She was carting out all his titles, just to avoid uttering his name.

  She fiddled with her top button and closed her eyes briefly. When she opened her eyes again, those green eyes glimmered with comprehension and resolve. She took a shaky breath and started to speak, “My sister was killed by a werewolf. I was nearly killed by a werewolf. I was given a Potion of Promise, and I was revived. But for this second chance at life, I made a Promise. I promised to hunt and kill rogues, to avenge my sister. A werewolf took away my only family.” Her voice shook. “Lucas, I can never mate with a werewolf.”

  She knows.

  She knows she is my mate!

  Lucas stepped towards her, but she backed away rapidly.

  “I...I have to go,” she stammered. “I...have to do...what I have to do.”

  “Charlotte, let me...” He grabbed her wrists.

  “Let me go!” she shouted, struggling in vain against him.

  “Charlotte...”

  “You...can't...mate...with...me!”

  “Charlotte, I will never force you. You know that. Just relax, and listen will you?” Lucas tried his best to calm her down.

  “Let go! Ouch, you're hurting me!”

  Lucas released her immediately, his eyes scanning her for the slightest injury. Had he really hurt her?

  The instant his fingers loosened over her wrists, she reached under her coat. Lucas knew what she was going for, but he didn't stop her. He didn't flinch when the silver blade appeared in her hand and she lunged towards him.

  With an anguished cry, she plunged the silver blade into his gut. The silver burnt his flesh and his skin sizzled and smoked as she yanked the dagger out. A muscle worked violently in Lucas's jaw but he didn't even glance down at his wound. He kept his gaze steadfastly on her face as she staggered back, gaping in horror at the terrible wound in his belly and her smoking blade.

  “Why didn't you move?” she whispered. “I could have killed you!”

  He shook his head. “No, you couldn't. You wouldn't.”

  “Why? Why do you have to be a werewolf?” Tears slid down her cheeks.

  “I'm a wolf, Charlotte, but I'm not a rogue wolf. The wolf that attacked your sister and you was a rogue. You're an Enforcer. You hunt rogues, not werewolves,” he said slowly. The scorching pain in his gut was making it difficult for him to breathe, but he forced himself to take deep, steadying breaths and focus on her.

  She pressed her hand to her mouth and shook her head. She was backing away from him, her face pale as her wide, green eyes took in the ghast
ly knife wound in his stomach. Her silver blade was shaking violently in her hand, dripping and smoking with his blood. With a stifled sound that sounded like a sob and a scream, she turned and fled from him.

  The sight of her running from him, her black coat whipping around her knees as she hurtled past the broken gate and down the street sent an explosion of raw pain and wrath through his body. Roaring her name, Lucas crashed after her, heedless of the terrible wound in his torso. He chased her with a vengeance, with a wild feral need, but she was receding from him. Fear and pain have lent her wings.

  He wasn't going to let her get away from him. Gritting his teeth, he lurched down the street, growling in frustration as her scent grew fainter. He was beginning to see double, and he could hardly hear anything above the desperate pounding in his ears. He forced himself to keep going, to try to catch her scent again, but his body wouldn't obey. Dropping to his knees, he shifted to his wolf form. Shifting made his body reshape and renew itself, churning out new cells to effect and complete the shift. Every time he shifted, his body regenerated itself. That was why shifters generally lived for a long, long time. They aged very slowly, because of the constant renewal and regeneration of their cells. Shifting took energy and focus, but it also helped them heal. Lucas could feel the knife wound knitting together, but the wound was too deep to close fully. It still hurt like hell, but at least his guts were no longer in danger of spilling out. The wound was serious, but not fatal. The silver hurt him badly, but it wouldn't kill him. Only a hit to the heart would kill him.

  He scanned the area, running down the length of the deserted street, sticking close to the shadows. But there was no trace of his mate. It was no use. He wouldn't be able to find her. Not in this bludgeoned, bloody state, with his senses blunted by his massive blood and energy loss.

  Running down street after street, and stumbling blindly into alleys and dead ends proved fruitless.

  With his exertion, his wound was widening and bleeding afresh. If he kept this up, he would be a dead wolf by morning.

  He growled, forcing himself to turn around and head back to the PAC Headquarters. He would get this bloody wound patched up, just so he wouldn't be dragging his intestines through the streets and tripping himself up. Then he would hunt her down.

  He was running out of time. In about seventy-two hours, the moon would be at its brightest and largest. And when that happened, at the full moon, her need and desire would torment her to the point of insanity.

  She would need him, even if she didn't want him.

  Lucas crashed into the building of the PAC Headquarters and collapsed at the entrance. Someone dragged him in, shouting and swearing. He heard Jett and Glenn's urgent voices and raised his head, but he couldn't see anything against the glare of the overhead lights. Silhouettes and shadows flitted across his vision, and voices echoed endlessly, their words sounding garbled and distorted.

  His last clear thought before everything went black was: seventy-two hours.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Charlotte kept running, the image of Lucas flashing before her eyes.

  He had held himself completely still even as she lurched towards him—and plunged her silver blade into his belly.

  His eyes had widened in shock and pain, as she yanked the dagger out of his body. He had looked her straight in the eye, his gaze unwavering even as his flesh and skin burned. A muscle had ticked violently in his jaw, but he had remained utterly still and silent, even as blood oozed from his wound and his flesh sizzled and hissed as the silver burnt through his skin and muscle.

  The pain must have been excruciating, but the only movement he made was to curl his fingers into tight fists at his side. She caught blood seeping through his fingers as he ground his claws into his palms.

  She had stared at the horrendous wound on his stomach with a horrible sick feeling. She had so badly wanted to press her hands to the gaping wound to stop the bleeding. Instead, she pressed her hand to her mouth to choke down a scream and a sob. Hurting Lucas felt so, so wrong.

  The wound she had inflicted on him was grievous, but it wasn't fatal. To kill a werewolf, the silver had to pierce the heart. He would hurt, but he would live.

  But hurting him...was worse than hurting herself.

  Her vision wavered, and she felt the first sting of hot tears. Just before her tears fell, she turned and ran, scrambling blindly out of the warehouse and through the broken gate. She heard him roaring her name as he crashed after her, but she refused to look back. Swiping away her tears, she kept on running.

  She had to run...from him.

  She ran hard, twisting through narrow, deserted streets and avoiding the main roads where she could be seen by passersby and motorists. She had to avoid being seen, and being caught.

  She knew that he wouldn't be able to chase her for long. He would not be able to go very fast or very far with that gash in his stomach.

  Sure enough, the sounds of his pounding steps and bellowing rage gradually subsided and all she could hear was her own labored breathing. Even then, she kept running, not really seeing where she was going.

  When she tripped and fell, she pushed herself up on her hands and knees and allowed herself a backward glance over her shoulder.

  There was no one.

  She got up and leaned against a lamppost, panting and hiccuping. She couldn't tell if she was crying or just trying to catch her breath. Her breaths were painful and shuddering, and her ribcage constricted to squeeze her heart into a tortured knot.

  Her body had awakened to his kiss, his touch, to him. She had known, deep down that he was hers. He had made her come, pleasured her, eased her without taking her, without taking his pleasure and his release. She wanted him like no other.

  Lucas Rieve, PAC Alpha, werewolf, her mate.

  He was her mate. And she wanted, craved, hungered to be claimed by him.

  She knew that the wolf in him wouldn't allow his mate to get away. He would chase her, hunt her down and claim her.

  What was it like to have his powerful body over hers, to have him sink fully and deeply into her, to have him fill her, take her and claim her completely?

  She gasped at the erotic image of their joined bodies, silvery moonlight glinting off their wet, sleek backs as they moved as one. There was a sudden, brief scent of the wild, of nature and the night. She could see the full moon and the sparkle of water droplets against the silhouette of leaves and branches. Charlotte snapped her eyes open as the wind stirred and blew against her clammy skin, clearing the vivid image from her mind.

  Shivering, she pushed away from the lamppost and steadied herself. She rubbed her arms, and frowned. When had it become so cold? The temperature seemed to have dropped drastically around her, making her breath curl into mist.

  She tried to take a step forward, and found she couldn't.

  What the hell?

  She was breathing harder, creating even more mist with her hot, frantic breaths. But her breaths definitely did not account for the dense fog which seemed to be forming around her at an unnatural and alarming rate.

  Charlotte tried to move again, but her feet felt as if they had been bound. Bound by mist?

  Charlotte tensed and very slowly raised her hand to reach under her jacket. The mist had curled round her legs, and thickened as it rose to envelope her entire body. Charlotte could feel a heavy, ominous presence around her.

  “Who's there?” she demanded. She blinked hard but couldn't see through the dense fog.

  She tried to reach for her vial of salt under her jacket, but before her hands could wrap around the vial and pop the lid, something cold slid over her wrists and she froze.

  She opened her mouth to scream, but the mist appeared to solidify into the shape of a hand before her eyes and sealed tight over her mouth, cutting off her scream. The fog swirled around her, creating all sorts of shapes and whispers.

  She could no longer see the street in front of her, and the light of the overhead streetlamp flickered for a mo
ment before being completely eclipsed by that eerie, evil fog.

  This was bad. Really, really bad.

  Charlotte knew that she had just run into a shitload of trouble. Her hand jerked out, reaching for the one man she knew would never hurt her, and would always, always catch her when she fell.

  A strong, decadently sexy man with a smart mouth that did sinful things to her.

  And she had run away from him...after hurting him.

  As the whispers grew and the fog swirled to create a cyclone around her, Charlotte thought she could make out some faces in the fog. The ground seemed to disappear from beneath her feet and she suddenly felt as though she was falling, being catapulted through a gap in space and time. She had experienced this just once before, during her training.

  Charlotte cursed silently and wrenched her hands into her jacket to try to find her wooden stakes. She knew who, or rather what, the enemy was.

  God, I hate being misted!

  She swallowed hard as the fog continued moving, transporting her from that deserted street corner to God knows where. She knew what the enemy was, but she didn't know how many of them she'd be fighting once they de-misted and materialized.

  Fighting down her nausea and muddled emotions, she closed her eyes and thought a single thought with absolute clarity and calm.

  Lucas, I'm sorry.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Lucas ripped away the bandage around his belly with a growl. There was a long, angry scar on his torso where Charlotte had plunged her silver blade into his body. He grimaced at the throbbing pain and scrubbed a hand down his face, feeling the bristles over his cheeks and chin. That woman will be the death of him—literally.

  He sat up and swung his long legs over the side of the bed, glancing around the medical bay of the PAC Headquarters.

  “Alpha!” Jasynta's strident voice came hurtling through the air, followed by her furious footsteps. “How many times have I told you to keep still and allow the Protection Potion to work its magic?”