Wanted by the Alpha

by Laxmi Hariharan

  “Nothing.”

  “Bull-fucking-shit.” I take a step forward, making sure not to hide the aggression I feel. It’s a sight I know has made many a grown alpha quake and move out of my way. Not this guy. Interesting. I’ll need to watch out for him.

  He shifts his weight from foot to foot. The early morning sun strikes his features, and he raises his palm to shade his eyes.

  Something in the gesture tugs at a memory long forgotten. A chill rolls down my back. "We've met before?"

  "Indeed." He draws himself up to his full height. "Right here in the stronghold, as a matter of fact."

  "We fought in the courtyard." My mother had brought me when I'd been fifteen as a last attempt to try to get my father to recognize me. As we'd passed the central square, I'd seen a boy take on a grown man twice his size in a fight and win. I had to challenge him.

  "You won that time too, Alpha." He shifts his weight from one foot to the other. "I knew then you would become a fighter to be reckoned with."

  "I am the best." I rake my fingers through my hair. Nope, not ego, it's just a fact. I haven’t lost a fight yet. "What's in it for you? Why are you throwing your support behind me?"

  His lips draw up in a slight smile that doesn't meet his eyes. “Second.”

  “What the fuck?” I growl.

  “You have a problem with making me your second once you take over?” He folds his arms over his chest.

  “You plan ahead, don’t you?” I rub the back of my neck.

  “You don’t.”

  “I lead with my gut.” I slap my chest.

  “It’s what will make you a compelling leader; you make quick decisions and follow them through. You have the charisma, that something that will make people want to follow you.” He cuts the air with his hand.

  “No shit.” I peel my lips back at him.

  “It only adds to your aura, your reputation.” He wipes his fingers on the material covering his thighs. Sweat beads his forehead. Fucker isn’t as calm as he appears to be.

  I could throttle him first, then go on to finish what I came for. I flex my fingers at my side.

  “If you want to kill me, it’s too late.”

  We reach the doors of the stronghold. The guards at the door block our way.

  “He’s with me.” Ethan jerks his chin at them.

  The first guard looks from Ethan to my face, then shuffles aside.

  I swagger forward and inside the building, Ethan close behind me. The door slams shut behind us. Walking up the corridor, I take the stairs two at a time, until I reach the second floor.

  He follows me as I stomp down the corridor, my destination the double doors at the very end.

  Well, no shit, that was easy. Too fucking easy. The thinking part of my brain that's so geared for survival stutters a warning.

  Halfway there, I stop so quickly he stumbles.

  Swiveling around, I grab his collar and shove him against the wall so he is suspended with his feet dangling above the floor. “I still don’t fucking trust you.”

  “The feeling is mutual. We don’t have to like each other, but we need each other.”

  The fucker is right, and that doesn’t make this any better.

  I tighten my hold on him, and he coughs, "How is it possible that the General of London only had two guards on duty?"

  He holds up his hands to show he doesn't mean me harm, that he isn't reaching for his weapons, and damn if that doesn't raise my hackles even more. "What’s your game?" I smash him against the wall so hard that the sword on his back slams into the wall. The noise echoes down the corridor. It's so loud that it's bound to warn the General, not that I care. It's only going to liven up the proceedings and damn if I am not looking forward to fighting with the old man before I finally send him off on his final journey.

  "Speak, asshole, or I promise you, you won't live to see omega pussy again."

  Ethan's shoulders tense. Fear rolls off him in waves, but his gaze stays steady. "I dispatched the other guards to the outskirts of the city to hold off a possible impending threat from the Vikings."

  "Right." I bare my teeth. "And you did all this to clear the path for me?”

  "I did it for myself." He raises his chin.

  Okay, that’s better. Ambition, I understand. Selfishness, I get. Doing what it takes to survive... well yeah, that's my religion. "I should kill you... except," I release him, and his feet hit the floor with a thump. "It seems I need your help."

  He’s going to ask for his pound of flesh sometime soon, and then… I am not sure what I’ll do then. Probably kill him anyway. Bet he's guessed that too, so it’s interesting he's still sticking around. Apparently, my father made a shitload of enemies... yeah, I get that from him too.

  There’s a sound from the door at the far end. “Fuck.” My heart begins to hammer.

  Ethan jerks his chin in the direction of Golan’s room. “Go.”

  I turn away from him and stride toward the suite.

  “I’ll make sure no one else comes through.” His voice follows me.

  All these years I’d bided my time, waited to take revenge. Now I am here at the door to the room of the enemy I’ve hated all my life. My pulse beats at my temples. Sweat beads my palms. I grab the handle to the door of the suite, and my hand slides off.

  Why the fuck am I so nervous?

  The guy’s not my father.

  The fucker never acknowledged my existence, not even the one time my mother brought me to this very stronghold. He'd brought her to this very suite, then fucked her in front of me. Later he'd flung us out like we were worth nothing. Now, his death is mine.

  Another sound comes from behind the door. There’s a low scream, then thumping.

  Adrenaline laces my blood.

  I grab the handle again, push open the doors, and stalk in.

  4

  Zeus

  Golan’s room is big, at least five times the size of the hovel I grew up in.

  On one side there are floor-to-ceiling windows that let in the fading light. There is a massive bed, with the high bed frame taking up most of the wall at the back. It’s exactly how I remember.

  Same wooden floors, the same rancid smell of overripe bodies and stale sweat; same fucker on the mattress, just a different omega.

  She faces me, her hair streaming forward to cover her ample breasts. Her heavy flesh bounces as she moves, riding the man below her, reverse cowgirl style.

  She throws her head back, and for a second, I can’t help but admire the clean planes of her concave stomach that curve down to meet her pussy. Nestled into it is the girth of my father's shaft, there right between her legs.

  The need to hurt pounds at my temples. I throw up my fists and march forward. I am going to fucking hurt this man.

  Halfway to the bed, the scent of sex, a sugary smell of slick mixed with the more acrid stench of what must be cum, rents the air. Images of my mother screaming as he’d fucked her in this very space, on the bed, against the window, on the floor, all of it crowds in on me. Rage tightens my gut. My vision narrows. I clench my jaw so hard that pain shoots up to my ears.

  I take a step forward, only for my foot to sink into something soft. I look down.

  There is food strewn all over the floor. Fruits, bread, meat, all of it thrown around as if the two had gorged on it very quickly before rolling in it, apparently. I follow the disgusting trail to the foot of the bed and stand there watching the spectacle.

  She moans, then brings up her hands to fondle her breasts. There is a strip of leather around her neck.

  “Come for me, you bitch.” The man yanks on the reins that stretch from the collar. “You are as dry as my mother’s pussy, you whore.”

  Her neck snaps back. The omega cries out in pain, and her eyelids fly open. Her mouth goes slack with surprise.

  I raise a finger to my lips and shake my head.

  She continues to ride him, then moans again.

  Good girl. I form the words with my lips so
she sees them, then walk around her to stand next to the man who is on his back on the bed.

  He’s thinner than when I last saw him. The flesh on his neck is loose as if he’s lost weight. Gray hair, still thick despite his age, streams to his shoulders. My hair is just as thick, and all black. Perhaps the only good thing about the genes I inherited from this fucker… well, not strictly true; there’s also my taller-than-most-alphas height, the width of my shoulders, and yeah, the hooked nose, the square chin… Fine, okay, also my blue eyes. But who’s counting, right?

  Golan is a big man, and despite how his sickness has wasted him, his presence is still impressive. The bed is massive, yet his legs almost reach the foot of the mattress.

  The wanker is at least six-feet-five inches tall. Good thing I am taller. The loose flesh of his biceps jiggles as he leans forward to yank at the rope that he has tied around the woman’s neck.

  “Faster.” He growls, his voice high, almost like that of a woman’s. Sweat beads his forehead, and his skin is flushed.

  He may be dying, but damn if this old alpha doesn’t want to get in his share of omega pussy before he departs.

  “That’s one hot omega, eh?”

  “The sweetest cunt I’ve ever had.” He rasps. “I’d give anything to breed her, to put a young one in that womb.”

  “Too bad your sickness rendered you sterile.”

  The words seem to penetrate the haze that fills his mind, for he jerks his head at me.

  “Who the fuck are you?” he roars.

  “Your death.” I bare my teeth, and reaching forward, grab his hair, haul him up, and pound his head against the headboard.

  The omega screams and gets off him.

  His shaft stays semi-erect before collapsing on his waist.

  He raises his fist. I swing my forearm and deflect the hit. Then reach for his shoulder and yank him to the floor.

  The man’s lost weight, but he’s still a big fucking hulk. The sound of his body hitting the floor sends a shudder through the room. Enough for the omega on the other side of the bed to fall to her knees. Her shoulders shudder, and she weeps.

  “Get out.” I nod to the door, then haul the alpha toward the floor-to-ceiling windows.

  My intent must have registered because he throws out a hand and grabs at a side table which is attached to the headboard.

  I jerk to a stop. “You shouldn’t have done that, old man.”

  I seize a handful of his hair and fling him back.

  His head collides with the side table. The fucker squeals in pain.

  The vibrations from the hit travel down his neck, over his shoulders. He hunches his back and lies panting.

  “Get up, asshole.”

  He doesn’t respond.

  Fucker lies there as if he didn’t hear me. He’s trying to provoke me. I lean down, grab him under his armpits, and haul him to his feet.

  Then I turn him around so he has no choice but to look me in the eye. Faded blue eyes stare back at me. It’s eerie, but it could well be me, many years from now, soulless, almost lifeless, like the walking dead. A shiver runs down my back. I cannot let myself become like him. I will not let myself lose my way so much that I end up like this pathetic creature. “You disgust me.” I spit in his face.

  He doesn’t flinch. His gaze narrows as he sweeps from my features down my torso then back to my face. I know the exact moment he realizes who I am, for his forehead clears.

  “Son.”

  “Don’t call me that.” I grind my teeth so hard, pain shoots up my jaw.

  “I have been searching for you.” He raises his arm.

  "Liar," I shake him by his shoulders with such force that the entire bed shudders.

  Color leaches from his cheeks, leaving his skin looking like parchment. “I have my soldiers out searching for you.”

  “The fuck I care?”

  "I...I wanted to offer you a position in my army."

  "Oh, yeah?" I sneer. "Like that changes anything, Father. Or should I call you motherfucker? That's what you are technically after all?"

  "Give me a chance to make up for all my wrongdoings." He takes a step toward me.

  The smell of something rotten bleeds into the air and my guts churn. Fucker has death hovering about him. It's my civic duty to hasten the inevitable conclusion to his sorry life and get rid of some of the garbage that clogs this city. Let it not be said that I did not do right by my fellow humans in this miserable place.

  "Oh! That's why I am here all right, to make you pay for your sins. But you and I may have a very different idea of what that constitutes. It would be poetic justice the son killing the father and all that, don't you think?" I peer into his gaze, and then wish that I hadn't.

  I may have disowned him, but my eerie resemblance to him is something I cannot deny. It’s like someone pulled out his genes, cast a mold out of them, then filled it with a lie, aka me. “Fuck.” I fling him back on the bed.

  He stays there on his back, panting. Gray pubic hair surrounds his now limp penis.

  I could have done without that sight. Bile rushes up my throat. “Get the fuck up.”

  My words galvanize him, for he swings his legs over and springs up to his feet. “What do you want, Zeus?”

  He props his hands on his hips.

  At least he’s not calling me son anymore. Small mercies. Not that I plan to show him any. Mercy, I mean.

  “What do you think I want… Pater?” I twist my lips. It’s a mockery of the education I never had. The ruling classes still send their spawn to the only still-standing public school in the city. Not me, of course. Not to say I am uneducated. I am self-taught and I have a near-photographic memory, which means I pick up stuff real fast. Not that I’m going to let on to anyone. Knowledge is more precious than weapons… almost as sought after as omegas in this stinking city that is stuck in the past.

  The omega makes a half-strangled noise as she sidles to the door. I jerk my head in her direction, only then remembering she’s still in the room.

  The old man beckons her.

  She hesitates. He growls low, and she shivers, her pupils dilate, and she moves forward as if in a daze. He jerks his chin at me. She doesn’t protest. Just walks around the bed towards me. She stops in front of me.

  “Suck him off bitch.”

  Barely are the words out of his mouth when she sinks to her knees.

  The scent of slick that bleeds through the air, the perfume of her skin, those rich pink lips of her cunt that call to me from between her legs. All of it tightens my groin. She reaches for the front of my pants and tilts her head up. Her eyes... they are all wrong.

  They are not green.

  Not like those of the omega I'd dreamed about.

  I step back and the woman’s hands fall to her side. Her forehead furrows.

  I glance at Golan. His features are flushed and his eyes gleam.

  “Father and son sharing the same omega, now isn’t that a sight?” The old alpha smacks his lips. “Or perhaps I can just watch?”

  He fixes his gaze on my crotch, his mouth half parted. Drool drips from his lips. He sinks back onto the bed and rubs his penis, trying to get it to harden.

  “Purr for her, son." He pants. "Just once let me pretend it is me who is taking her, playing with her. Do it. Let me enjoy the fucking that comes with the complete abandonment and energy of youth.” He growls low in his throat.

  The bitter stink of his cum bleeds into the air, and I am filled with loathing.

  I watch my father moan as he brings himself to arousal. Beads of cum slide from his dick, and he rubs it over his shaft.

  My skin crawls.

  It's as if he’s pretending it is her slick or perhaps my cum? He seems to be channeling me, trying to get inside my head, perhaps even put himself into my skin and pretend he is reliving his youth all over again.

  My gut twists; bile sloshes in my stomach. And just like that, I cannot go on. There is nothing right about this scene. And everything is w
rong. He’s still alive.

  I step around the omega and come to a stop in front of Golan.

  His gaze widens, and a shudder runs down his body. He doesn’t stop fondling himself, pumping his cock up and down. He pants, his nostrils flare, the folds of skin on his neck shudder with every move, and his jowls shake.

  It’s a horrible picture, what age can do to you. Or perhaps it’s just that I hate this man, what he did to my mother.

  Wrapping my fingers around his nape, I pull him to his feet, then squeeze.

  He chokes, his mouth falls open, and yet he doesn’t stop pumping his dick. If anything, his actions become more frantic. Color rushes to his cheeks. The loser is turned on.

  “What the fuck?” I roar and suddenly I simply want to get out of there.

  I’ve seen Golan, seen what he’s become, and it’s too much of a reminder of how I could end up. I need to finish what I came for and get out of here.

  I tighten my hold on his neck. My biceps strain, my chest hurts, and my legs tremble as I take the weight of a man who in his heyday was at least my own weight and who still weighs at least three quarters as much as me.

  Tears leak out of my eyes with the effort.

  I keep squeezing. A strangled cry emerges from his throat.

  His legs tremble. His gaze widens, and he finally seems to realize what is happening. He grips his dick and raises it. The scent of his cum is everywhere, mixed with the food and the unwashed sheets that reek of sex. My stomach churns, and I know I am going to be sick. My skin crawls with revulsion. My biceps go solid, then I twist his head.

  There’s a crack as the bones of his spinal cord break.

  He goes limp, and I fling him away from me. His body bounces on the bed, then lies there.

  I stay there, panting. That’s when I realize his dick is still erect. “Fucking hell.” The band around my chest tightens. I can't breathe. My insides churn. Turning, I stagger to the window.

  Flinging open the panes, I lean out and am violently sick.

  5

  Zeus

  Behind me, I hear the omega stagger to her feet. She must have turned and looked at the bed, for with a little scream she rushes out.