Red Hot Alphas: 11 Novels of Sexy, Bad Boy, Alpha Males (Red Hot Boxed Sets Book 2)

by Jo Raven

  “God,” he said in a hoarse voice. “You have to be the sexiest woman…” His mouth trailed down her torso, down to her belly button. With his other hand, he gave a mighty heave at her leggings…

  And they tore.

  She let out a little noise of surprise.

  Ryder ripped the rest of the fabric. “Damn it. I liked the way those hugged your ass.”

  She scrambled away from him. This was insane. She wanted him. She did. But none of this made sense. She tugged her shirt down, covering herself. “Just hold on a minute.”

  He looked annoyed. “What are you doing?”

  “It’s only that we’re getting very… intimate… and I barely know… How did you start talking? Could you talk all this time and you’ve been acting like an animal because… because…” She couldn’t think of any reason someone would do that.

  “Come here.” His voice rumbled deep in his chest. “We can talk about all this in a little bit. We can talk about this until the cows come home. I have a feeling I’m not going to want to shut up. But first, you have to let me…” He seemed to struggle to find words. “Let me fuck you.”

  Her eyes widened.

  He winced. “See, I’m already losing it. We’re not touching, and I’m losing it. I should have known not to use that word.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Come here.” He reached over and grabbed her wrist. He yanked her back across the tent, and his hands were inside her shirt again.

  “No, don’t.” Now, she was feeling annoyed. She wanted to talk this out, and then there could be as much raw footage as he wanted. But he couldn’t force her to do this. She slapped at his hands. “Let go of me,” she said in her best angry-teacher voice.

  He nuzzled her neck, searching for her breasts under her shirt. “Please. Please, I need this. And you’re so pretty.”

  She put a hand against his chest and shoved. It was like trying to shove a boulder. “It just shouldn’t be so fast. Do you understand that?”

  “It has to be,” he muttered, and one of his hands had strayed to the band of her underwear.

  She slapped his hand away. “Stop!” She was starting to feel real panic now. She wanted this man, but he really was a stranger to her, and he was so much bigger than her. If he wanted to hurt her…

  He thrust his hand into her panties.

  And she went frantic, pushing at him—using her arms and feet. She needed to make him stop.

  * * *

  Ryder smelled the shift in her, the dulling of arousal and the rise of fear. He backed off immediately, retreating to a corner of the tent. He wouldn’t do anything to her if she felt like that, but he couldn’t help but feel frustrated. He needed to be close to this woman in order to get back his humanity, and he didn’t know how to communicate that to her. Every time he tried, she somehow stopped him from getting it across. He needed to try again.

  He showed her both his hands, palms facing her, hoping that gesture would let her see that he wasn’t trying to touch her anymore.

  Red-faced and out of breath, she stopped struggling and looked at him.

  He sighed. She really did look amazing, her ample bosom heaving, her legs bare, her hair falling in her face. His unattended erection throbbed.

  “Listen to me,” he said.

  “You ripped my leggings,” she said.

  “I’m sorry about that.” Seriously, at a time like this, that was what she wanted to bring up? “It’s very important that you let me continue what we were doing.”

  “I don’t think so.” She drew herself up, looking self-important. “I don’t have to let you do anything to me.”

  “I know you don’t have to, but I was hoping that you would anyway. It’s the only way that I’ll be able to keep talking to you.”

  “I don’t understand what you mean,” she said. “All I wanted you to do was to talk to me. I need answers. Why are you able to talk now, when you weren’t before?”

  “I don’t know exactly,” he said. “But it’s all connected, don’t you see? If you and I are…” The word evaded him. Damn it. He was losing it again. He needed to make love to her. He was sure that was the only way to cement his human side forever. He shut his eyes. “Are… close, then…” Damn it, damn it, damn it, he was losing the words again!

  “So when you aren’t talking, what are you then? Do you really think you’re a wolf then?”

  “Yes,” he said. “Kind of. I know that I’m not…” He trailed off searching for words again. Desperate, he shook himself. “Please, let me touch you again. If I’m not touching you, I can’t… can’t… fuck.”

  She pursed her lips. “You know what I think? I think maybe you’ve been pretending all along, and now you think that you can use your innocent I’m-just-your-pet-Rover act to get me to spread my legs for you. Well, it isn’t going to work. So, get out of the tent.”

  He sputtered. “What?”

  “I don’t even want to look at you anymore.”

  “I’m not pretending. And I’m not leaving the tent.”

  “You have to.”

  “No, I don’t.” Part of him wanted to tackle her and get his mouth back on her nipples again. He was quite sure that she’d be cooperative if he was pleasuring her. The wolf part of him thought that was a good idea. Just push her far enough, and she’d yield to him, and all would be well.

  But the human part of him shrank from the thought. There was something horrible about forcing her when she was afraid, even if he knew that he meant her no harm. No, he had to convince her somehow. And he didn’t know how he’d do that without touching her. He was better at communicating with his hands than his voice, it seemed.

  “Fine,” she said primly. “I’ll leave.” She unzipped the tent and began to crawl.

  “You don’t have any… any bottoms,” he said.

  “Well, whose fault is that?” And she flounced out.

  * * *

  Outside the tent it was colder than Calla had expected. She shivered. Her top was long enough that it covered her butt and the tops of her thighs, but her legs were still bare, and she had nothing on her feet. Jesus, he’d ripped her leggings. She didn’t have anything to wear now. This was insane.

  Maybe she should go back into the tent.

  But then she thought about how smug he’d been, trying to tell her it was “important” that she get it on with him. Who did he think he was? Next he’d be telling her that his balls hurt because she hadn’t allowed him to get off, and trying to guilt her into it like she was a teenage girl. He might not be a dog, but he was juvenile like one.

  She stalked off in the direction of the freight container. It wasn’t exactly comfortable in there, but it would be warmer. She’d close the door and be away from him. She only wished that she’d brought herself a blanket.

  In the morning, when she saw him, she wasn’t going to take anymore of this crap where he pretended to be a wolf. It was obviously all an act. She’d heard him talk, and they’d carried on an actual conversation. She wasn’t sure that her accusation of his pretending to be an animal to get in her pants actually made any sense, so maybe that wasn’t his motive. But that almost made the situation worse, because it proved that he probably had bad mental problems. Why else would someone act like a dog and refuse to act like a person?

  But as she made her way across the campsite, there was a nagging thought in the back of her brain that her analysis didn’t feel right. After all, last night, she’d seen him when he had reverted back to the beast, and it had seemed as if something had gone dull in his eyes. Maybe something else was happening with him, and he was switching back and forth between wolf and man.

  Oh, but how would that even work? That made positively no sense. It was out of the realm of possibility.

  Still, she supposed she didn’t know much about werewolves.

  Werewolves.

  A flash of the red balloon, and goosebumps burst out all over her bare skin, only partly because of the cold. She sh
ivered, and she stopped. Hugging herself, she turned in a circle. She’d just gotten the distinct feeling that something was following her. She knew it was ridiculous. She got scared like that all the time, especially after her zombie movie marathons. But she needed to reassure herself, so she’d just look around and make sure no one was there.

  See, there was the tent. Its blue color was difficult to make out in the darkness, so it just looked like a big, dark shape there, but she could see that it was only a tent. Nothing else was there.

  And there was the fire pit, the chairs all around it.

  No one’s here, she thought. I’m fine.

  There was the cooler, sitting in a tuft of grass by the tent. The ice inside was probably melting, but it hardly mattered, because they’d eaten most of the food and Jasper would be back in the morning.

  Everything was fine. There was nothing to be afraid o—

  Strong arms grabbed her from behind.

  Calla screamed.

  A voice at her ear, hot breath tickling her skin. “That’s it, button. Let him hear you.”

  Oh God, that wasn’t Ryder’s voice. It wasn’t Ryder who had her. It was some stranger. She felt the cold metal of a gun’s muzzle poke her cheek, and she screamed again.

  He chuckled. “Oh, yeah, button. I could tell you had some lungs on you. Dig the look, incidentally. What happened to your pants?”

  It was Leroy. He recognized her, and he had a gun, and that meant it was Leroy. “Ryder!” she yelled. She wasn’t sure if she wanted his help, or if she wanted to warn him. “He’s got a gun!”

  Leroy couldn’t stop laughing. “That’s right. Very, very good. I want him to come for you.”

  Oh. She cringed. Maybe she should keep her mouth shut?

  But Ryder was already bursting out of the tent, eyes flashing.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Ryder was inside the tent, struggling to hold onto words, when he heard her scream. He started for her right away, but he got tangled up in blankets and the tent. His human side knew how to navigate it, but his human side was already muted, and he was losing more and more of it with every passing moment.

  By the time he got free of the tent, he no longer remembered what it was called.

  All he knew was that there was a man outside, and the man was hurting the soft woman. He had one of the loud sticks—the ones that made loud cracks, the ones that the men used to kill deer in the woods.

  Ryder was afraid of the loud stick. He knew better than to tangle with a man who had one.

  But the man had the soft woman, and Ryder knew he couldn’t let anything happen to her either. She might not have let him mate with her, but he still had to help her. He had to stop the man.

  He could still run on his hind legs—still had that much of a man left in him, even if he no longer had many words. He rushed at the man, growling, raising his front paws and turning his man-hands into claws. He tried to look as formidable as he could. He was afraid of the loud stick, but maybe the man would be afraid of him.

  The man didn’t look afraid, only confused. He said a string of words, and of them, Ryder could only make out his own name. Ryder.

  The man knew him.

  Ryder wanted to tell the man to let the soft woman go. He wanted to tell the man that if he hurt the soft woman, Ryder would hurt him. But he didn’t have any words, so he tried to put all of that into his growl, into the way that he advanced on the man.

  The man was looking confused. He furrowed his brow as he looked at Ryder, and he continued to speak, but his voice had taken on a bewildered quality, as if he couldn’t understand what was happening.

  Ryder didn’t much understand what was happening either. He only knew that he’d crossed a certain line, and that he couldn’t back down now. The time to retreat was over. Now he was too close, and he was committed. He was going to lunge onto the man, loud stick or not. He couldn’t halt his momentum.

  At the last second, the man pushed away the soft woman, and he held up both his hands, shaking his head, and speaking in a rapid, frantic voice.

  But Ryder couldn’t stop, not now, and so he tackled the man.

  They both went down, the man beneath Ryder, and the loud stick went off.

  Ryder whined. He didn’t like the noise. But he didn’t back off. He pinned the man down, and he swiped him across the face with one of his claws—except he was in his man shape, and he didn’t have claws.

  Still, he was pleased to see that the swipe had drawn a bit of blood.

  The man was astonished, and there was fear in his eyes, and Ryder could smell the fear.

  The fear drove Ryder to a frenzy, and the wolf inside him reared up. The wolf wanted blood. The fear made the man smell like prey, and Ryder wanted to feed.

  But he had no teeth. He wasn’t a wolf.

  He flailed at the man, limbs and fingernails and knees and teeth and everything he had in his arsenal. He growled, he howled, and he lost himself in it. He wanted to annihilate this man. He wanted to rip him and shred him until he didn’t exist.

  And so he went at him until the soft woman was pulling him off, yelling at him with words he didn’t understand.

  The man was still. He wasn’t moving.

  Ryder looked up at the soft woman, who was still yelling. He slunk away to lick the blood from his man-paws.

  * * *

  Calla was horrified.

  She was grateful that Ryder had somehow stopped Leroy, but the way he had gone about it… He’d been like an animal, and it had reminded her so much of that night, the red balloon floating into the air, terror coursing through her tiny body.

  It upset her so badly that for some time, she was frozen, just watching as Ryder went viciously insane on Leroy.

  And then she seemed to snap out of it, and she grabbed Ryder and pulled him off. She didn’t have any sympathy for Leroy, not really, but she didn’t want to watch him kill another man.

  And to think… to think…

  She’d been so close to letting Ryder make love to her earlier that night. Thank God that hadn’t happened. Thank God she’d stopped him. She didn’t know what Ryder was, but there was something in him that was dangerously violent, and she was repelled by it.

  Leroy wasn’t dead, but he wasn’t moving either. Calla used that to her advantage. She found her leggings in the tent, and she used them to make strips. She tied Leroy to one of the chairs next to the fire pit, tying his legs to each of the chair legs and securing his arms to the back. She made the knots as tight and as strong as she could make them, but she didn’t really trust her ability to tie up the man, so she sat up all night with the gun, watching him.

  When she started to fall asleep, she simply reminded herself of what she’d seen Ryder do, and she was filled with fresh horror. It kept her awake.

  As for Ryder himself, he wasn’t talking anymore, and she wasn’t sure why that was. Admittedly, she hadn’t tried to engage him in conversation. She could hardly look at him, let alone speak to him. Every time she thought about his hands on her body, his lips on her lips, she felt as if her skin was crawling.

  Ryder had shown his true colors. He was dangerous, and she was afraid of him.

  Of course, he’d also saved her life. Maybe she was being too hard on him.

  It was only the way he’d done it, the way he’d gone after Leroy. It had seemed as if Ryder enjoyed what he was doing. He was delighting in it, and that made her sick to her stomach.

  Before Calla was a teacher, she’d had very naive and optimistic opinions of the human race. She’d thought that most people were good deep down, and that they didn’t really want to hurt other people. If they did, she believed that she could kill them with kindness.

  One year as a teacher was enough to disabuse her of the notion, and it brought out a bitter streak within her that she wished she’d never developed. She had liked her fluffy version of the world. But she knew now that it wasn’t true. People were often cruel.

  Her students were self-absorbed. They
were disobedient. She still remembered how she had set out a stack of paper on the shelf for students who forgot to bring theirs to class, only to be drowning in paper airplanes by the end of class. She remembered the days that she’d be tired and beg the students to cut her a break that day. And they would seem to take this as a sign to push harder because they knew they’d really get to her today.

  But as far as that went, she supposed it was normal. She couldn’t fault students for disliking her. She was the authority figure. Of course they weren’t going to see her as a fellow human being. In fact, she almost had to make sure they didn’t think that, because it was the only piece of power that she had over them, the idea that she was somehow separate and removed. That was the only reason that they obeyed her at all.

  So, even though it made it difficult to want to go back to work, knowing that the people she worked with were working at cross purposes to her every moment, she supposed that was the nature of the beast.

  The cruelty that always bothered her the most, however, was the way they treated each other. It was callous, and it was always overkill. Twenty against one, much of the time.

  One year, she’d had a girl in her class. The girl was a little bit annoying, Calla had to admit. She was a know-it-all. She wore glasses, and she always lugged around thick novels. Her hair was a mousy blond, and it never seemed quite combed. Still, Calla had found the girl a little bit charming. Maybe she was socially awkward, but she did have some very interesting things to say.

  However, she could see why her peers might not have loved her. And they didn’t. They despised the girl.

  Calla was struck by how pervasive it was, how impossible to control. They tormented the girl, sending her out in tears more than once. They threw things at her, stuffed things in her backpack, called her names, and—probably worst of all—forcibly ostracized the girl.

  And Calla could do nothing about it. No punishments stopped it, though she enforced them with regularity. In fact, the more attention Calla called to it, the worse it seemed to get. When Calla tried to shame the students, appealing to their inborn sense of empathy, it seemed to backfire, everything getting even worse in her classroom.