Alpha in Heat
A Meadowfall Firefighters Novel
Anna Wineheart
Contents
Alpha in Heat
1. Four Years Ago
2. The Worst Interview Ever
3. Dom Gets Grilled
4. What is That SMELL?
5. Bar Nights Part 1
6. Bar Nights Part 2
7. Bar Nights Part 3
8. Dom is Screwed
9. Jesse Loses His Temper
10. Bar Nights Part 4
11. Dom is In Deep
12. Christmas Eve
13. Donut Wars: The Beginning
14. Things Get Real
15. “Donut”
16. The Donut Mystery
17. The Mysterious Morning Sickness
18. Jesse Freaks Out
19. “Donut”, or “Please”
20. The Chapter of Many Kisses
21. Dom Does Not Want To Grovel
22. Secret’s Out
23. Bite Me
24. Strength is
25. Dom Meets the Family
26. The Little Things
27. Dom Tries To Save Jesse
28. Jesse’s in Trouble
29. Dom Comes to the Rescue
30. Jesse Wakes Up
31. More Donuts
32. The Color of Love
33. Childbirth
Epilogue
Also by Anna
About the Author
Copyright Anna Wineheart 2020
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means whatsoever without express written permission from the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
This novel contains graphic sexual content between two men. Intended for mature readers only.
Warnings: On-page torture, past torture, past human experimentation, past organ transplant/additions, past lover suicide, self-harm ideation, consensual dubcon-play, some violence, some gore
To all of you out there:
You are beautiful.
You are worthy.
You are loved.
.
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Alpha in Heat
Alpha-preg. Enemies-to-lovers. Boss/Subordinate. May/Dec.
Jesse Sinclair has secrets. A mountain of them. At twenty, newly-rescued from a human trafficking ring, he's eager for a new beginning. That means not looking at his case files, and not knowing what his captors have done to him. It's all in the past. It doesn't matter anymore.
Except it does, when his PTSD gets him off on the wrong foot with his fire station deputy, Dom. Dom is alpha-as-hell, twice his age, and it's clear he doesn't want Jesse on the team. Jesse joins the station family anyway, and everyone welcomes him with open arms. That is, everyone but Dom, who challenges him to drinking matches.
Dom, who subdues him during his panic attacks.
Dom, who kisses him and pretends it didn't happen.
But the biggest secret is the one even Jesse doesn't know--back in the Facility, his body was altered. Something Jesse should've discovered before following Dom home one night.
The simmering heat between them explodes. Jesse ends up conceiving a child. He's not prepared for this at all.
Alpha in Heat is a 84k-word standalone slow-burn non-shifter MPreg romance, with two very aggressive alphas, secret donut gifts, an accidental pregnancy, and a station family who loves them both despite their quirks.
1
Four Years Ago
“#301 is too young for this,” Rutherford said, unease twisting through his gut. “He’s only sixteen.”
“I beg your pardon. Sixteen is the perfect age for this.” On the other side of the operating table, Dr. Larson pinned Rutherford with a cold stare over steel-rimmed glasses. “You were brought on to this project as my assistant. You will not question my decisions.”
Rutherford bit his tongue. Subject #301 was one of many in this underground facility—mere children caught in an invisible web he’d been sent to investigate.
Six months. He had to stay low for that long. Then, when he’d amassed enough evidence, he would reach out to the outside world. And HQ would send agents in to extricate all of these poor souls.
“Hand me the scalpel,” Larson said.
Rutherford swallowed the bile in his throat. He tried not to look at the glistening lump of tissue set on ice, that was headed into #301’s body.
It was a uterus, complete with nerves and blood vessels, grown from pluripotent stem cells they’d cultivated from #301 himself. Rutherford knew the exact techniques—he was the one who had come up with a method to silence the Y chromosomes in alpha DNA, in order to grow omega parts from an alpha’s stem cells. The objective being to allow an alpha the option to breastfeed his children.
He hadn’t imagined that it would be used for this. To modify an unconscious teenager, who had been imprisoned in this facility for gods-knew-how-long.
There was no sign of a name anywhere on #301’s clipboard—only the identifying number assigned to every test subject. The same number was outlined in silvery skin on two parts of #301’s body: his hip, as well as his shoulder. The organization hadn’t taken time to tattoo the children—they’d been branded with hot iron, and the burns had been left to heal into scars.
Rutherford had heard that, when the scars eventually faded, the subjects were taken to the forge to be branded again.
“You plan for the uterus to be functional,” he said.
Larson looked at him like he thought Rutherford had lost all his brain cells. “If this succeeds, we will have a way to impregnate alphas. Imagine how much he’ll sell for on the market.”
That was something Rutherford didn’t want to imagine. He looked at the numerous scars on #301’s shoulders, and the beads they’d embedded into the boy’s arms a week ago to see how well he’d react to the slow-release hormones.
#301 had been extremely unstable this past week. He’d been startling whenever anyone unlocked his cell, and lashing out at the scientists who attempted to make contact.
When this surgery was over, he’d be shot up with tranqs so he could heal. And, to prevent him from ripping apart the stitches holding his abdomen together, he would never discover that he’d acquired new organs after today.
Larson took the scalpel that Rutherford held out, making the first cut into #301. The boy jerked; there hadn’t been enough anesthetic to completely pull him under.
Short of blowing his cover, Rutherford couldn’t show any more sympathy toward the young alpha on the operating table. An alpha that, had he been luckier somehow, would’ve been playing ball on a field with the rest of his schoolmates. It was a pity, too, because despite the scars littering his body, #301 was a fine specimen—good looks, and muscles that were developing well on those broad shoulders. Exactly what the black market thirsted for.
“Shall I increase his dosage to keep him still?” was what Rutherford managed to suggest.
Larson gave a brusque nod, making a deeper cut.
Six months couldn’t go by quickly enough. And that agent who would show up at some point, Nate—Rutherford hoped he would get them all out alive.
2
The Worst Interview Ever
&nb
sp; (Present Time)
Jesse Sinclair straightened his tie. Breathe, he told himself.
He’d practiced with his therapist, Toni, close to a hundred times. He knew he’d ace this interview. At least, he’d better. There wasn’t another vacancy at any of the fire stations nearby. And he really, really wanted this job.
The problem? His lower-than-average psych scores. His scores were so low, in fact, it was a miracle they had called him up for an interview. Maybe they’ll look past that, Toni had said.
Yeah, well. There was still time for them to drop his resume in the discard pile.
He splashed his face with cool water, looking back in the bathroom mirror.
Droplets of water had darkened his starched shirt—some smaller spots, some larger. None that had soaked the fabric at his shoulder, though. That was most important. No one needed to see the silvery numbers on his skin.
301 was part of his past. He wasn’t that prisoner anymore.
He straightened his tie, assuming that the interview panel wouldn’t notice his wet shirt. No one ever did. People he met usually ogled his scars, until they grew uncomfortable and looked away. Who wouldn’t, though? No one else had scars covering their entire body. Jesse had a slew of uneven silver lines and red marks, from his fingertips to the back of his skull, from his shoulders down to his toes. They were scars from bullet wounds, incisions, whip lashes—who knew what else?
Then there was the biggest scar down his abdomen—ugly and silver, and it pulled whenever he did his crunches. Jesse wasn’t sure what Larson had done there, but he didn’t want to know. This was a new beginning. This was his new life.
He took a deep breath to calm his pattering heart, double-checked the landing outside his apartment, and stepped out, all the while listening for surreptitious footsteps, for whispered orders and men hidden behind corners. His heart pounded, and his senses strained.
Some days, it was a challenge just making it out of the building.
When he reached the parking lot, he made for the motorbikes—where no one could hide behind cars and grab him from behind. Then he pulled on his helmet, started the engine, and headed for the station.
The Meadowfall fire department was smaller than the training facility in Highton. It had three large doors leading into the garage, what looked to be an office upstairs, and more red trucks in the back.
Jesse pulled in behind the station, where it said Employee Parking Only. Then he parked his bike, stepped into the garage, and looked around for a firefighter.
One of the alphas in the station glanced up—an older man with an applewood scent. “Here for an interview?”
Jesse nodded, holding out his hand. “Jesse Sinclair. I was told to look for either Harris or Dom.”
The alpha shook his hand. “Gareth. And yeah, Harris is the A-Team captain; Dom’s the deputy. Wait here. I’ll get them.”
Jesse tucked his hands into his pockets, looking around the station. He saw Nate working on something on the far side of the garage. Some of his nerves calmed. Nate was the one who had brought him out of the Facility. Jesse had heard about Nate retiring as an agent to become a firefighter, and it was part of the reason why he’d applied for a job at this station—so he would have a friend here.
Gareth returned a minute later, with two older alphas Jesse assumed to be Harris and Dom.
“Harris,” the taller alpha said, flashing a quick smile. “Great to meet you.”
The team captain seemed friendly. More so than most people who met Jesse for the first time. There was a strange mix of two different alpha scents on him, along with a floral scent. Cautiously, Jesse shook his hand.
The other alpha didn’t offer a handshake, which set Jesse on edge. That wasn’t what he’d expected.
Dom—Jesse assumed—had gray streaking through his blond hair, and shrewd copper eyes. Eyes that raked over the scars on Jesse’s shaved head, down his face, to his neck and collarbones. As though he was already judging Jesse for them. Jesse couldn’t help bristling. I’m not who you think I am.
Except Dom’s gaze was sharp, heavy, like it missed nothing at all. Like it could see into Jesse and pin down his secrets.
Somehow, for reasons he couldn’t explain, something in Jesse’s body jerked under his attention.
What the hell? He’s an alpha. Sure, Jesse had gotten hard for omegas. But this... it wasn’t arousal. Couldn’t be. Maybe it was his instincts recognizing the strength in Dom’s solid shoulders. Maybe Jesse’s instincts were preparing him for a fight. By drawing his attention to the way Dom’s pecs stretched his shirt, the way Dom’s body tapered down to his hips, and the thick thighs behind his pants.
So why was a tiny part of his body telling him that no alpha should be this ridiculously handsome? Strong jaw, full lips, biceps that opened up his T-shirt sleeves.
Maybe Jesse was envious. Yeah, that had to be it. Imagine getting to be forty, with a stable job in a place you were respected. No one cracking a whip over your bare body, no one pushing scalpels into your skin. That had to be nice, huh?
Awkwardly, he held his hand out to Dom. “Jesse Sinclair.”
Dom met his eyes. Then he turned abruptly, striding up the stairs. “Meeting rooms are in the office.”
Wow, that was rude.
He was so not hot at all.
Harris smiled apologetically. “We’re having a bit of a busy day, if you don’t mind hurrying a little. We could get another call any minute.”
“Yeah, sure,” Jesse said.
He jogged up the stairs with Harris and Gareth, but this still put him behind Dom. In a position where he could clearly see Dom’s orange pants stretching across his tight ass.
Jesse very nearly tripped. Why the hell am I looking at his ass? He’s a bastard!
Worse, he could only smell that distinct blackwood scent now—Dom’s scent. It was complex, rich, taunting. Jesse wished he could stop himself from breathing it in.
Except, of course, they had to all settle down inside a meeting room, and close the door. More blackwood scent.
The three firefighters sat on one side of the long oval table, leaving the seats on the other side open to Jesse. “Have a seat,” Harris said pleasantly.
Jesse was secretly glad that he didn’t have to sit right across from Dom.
The interview started off just like Toni had said it would: introductions, questions about why Jesse wanted this job. Those, he could handle.
Dom shuffled a stack of papers. My resume, Jesse realized.
“It says here that you’ve been working at a burger place.” Dom tapped on a line that Jesse had painstakingly typed out on a computer. “You began this job nine months ago. You’re twenty. What were you doing before that? I see no mention of high school at all.”
A memory flashed through Jesse’s mind—a dark cell, and the white-hot pain of a needle. Countless needles. So much screaming, and no way to get out. His hands shook. He kept them clenched, pressed against his thighs so they did not betray him. Toni had advised him on this, too.
“I was off finding myself,” he said, his heart thumping.
“Does finding yourself involve collecting some scars?” Dom nodded at Jesse’s arms.
Was he being sarcastic? Jesse’s instincts rumbled with annoyance. This is an interview, he told himself. This is part of the job. I need the job. “What happened to my body isn’t for you to judge.”
Dom didn’t seem convinced. “It’s not a good look, bringing a gangster onto the team.”
As though Jesse would deliberately go out and pick fights like some common thug. Was that what Dom thought he was? Just like everyone else did? Didn’t Dom’s superhuman vision tell him anything?
“I’m not a gangster,” Jesse hissed before he could stop himself.
Dom met his eyes with a hard stare. “Short fuse. Not something we’re looking for, either.”
Holy gods-damnit, but this man somehow dug under Jesse’s skin faster than anyone else did.
“This is
part of the test,” Harris said placidly, giving Dom a wry look. “We face a number of calls from distraught citizens. Keeping your cool is one of the most important things on the job.”
“You will be mistaken for a gangster,” Dom said flatly. “Either learn to deal with it, or forget about the job.”
That stung. Jesse took deep, calming breaths. Ignore him. Just ignore that bastard. Never mind that Dom had tricked Jesse into getting his hackles up.
“On to a better topic,” Harris suggested. “Tell us about your childhood.”
That was an unexpectedly personal question. But Jesse could answer it—assuming that The Bastard didn’t butt in with his comments again. “My dad’s an engineer. My mom’s a housewife. Last I looked, I had a sister—”
“Last you looked?” Gareth raised an eyebrow.
Jesse flushed. He knew he should’ve gone home. He knew he should’ve visited his parents the moment he was released. Hug his mom, say hi to his dad. But the way everyone else looked at him... It made him falter.
Jesse had tried to make friends at the fast food place. His coworkers had looked askance at his scars. At the grocery store, the shoppers gave him a wide berth. When he’d attended his evening classes for his GED, even the teachers were afraid to meet his eyes.
The more he’d returned to these places, the more alienated Jesse had felt.
He’d thought about going home and admitting to his dad, I was a prisoner for six years. They tortured me the whole time. And I couldn’t fight back.
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