Alpha in Heat

by Anna Wineheart

  Jesse jerked away from him. “I wasn’t gonna.”

  But Dom grabbed him again, his jaw set. When Jesse yanked on his arm this time, Dom didn’t let go. Instead, he hauled Jesse to the line of cabs waiting outside the bar.

  “I can do this by myself,” Jesse snapped.

  Dom opened the back door of a cab and shoved Jesse in. Then he pulled out his wallet and threw some notes at the driver. “Take him home. Keep the change.”

  Was Dom treating him like— “Fuck you,” Jesse hissed. “I’m not an omega.”

  Dom’s eyes flashed. “You sure smell like one.”

  How was Jesse supposed to answer him? That he hadn’t always smelled like cinnamon, until the Facility happened?

  Dom slammed the car door shut. Jesse had been lucky he’d seen it coming, or it’d have sent him into another panic attack.

  Then he hated himself for freaking out over stupid small things like that, he hated that he wore the scars of his past on his skin. That he smelled so differently from everyone else.

  Not for the first time, Jesse wished he could be a normal person, and blend in with everyone else. So people would stop staring at him in fear. So people would stop asking him questions.

  So he could stop being so jumpy, and maybe Dom would respect him more.

  In the end, it kept boiling down to Dom, and those copper-brown eyes judging him.

  “Where you headed?” the cab driver asked.

  Jesse only wished he knew.

  8

  Dom is Screwed

  “You’re early today,” Harris said when Dom stepped into the station kitchen.

  Dom poured himself some coffee—black, with no cream or sugar. Then he took a seat across from Harris, who was going through some reports from Team C. “I’m always early.”

  “Yeah, but an hour early? You’d much rather be working out at the gym.”

  Yeah, well. Dom had spent the last two hours at the gym, and he was tired of the thoughts bouncing around in his head. “Been there, done that.”

  Harris glanced up, eyebrow raised. “That’s not like you.”

  Dom breathed out the frustration in his chest. Understatement of the year. “Really?”

  Harris finished reading the last of his reports, before setting them down to look Dom in the eye. “What happened?”

  Fucked our subordinate, was what happened, Dom almost said. But he didn’t need Harris judging him for it, on top of how much crap he was already giving himself.

  And it had been as good as fucking. Few things got more intimate than sharing a breath, pushing your tongue into someone else’s mouth, all while your hard cocks rubbed together, pleasure jolting up your spine.

  When Dom had reached home two nights ago, his come had soaked through his underwear, his knot heavy as ever. And there had been a trace of cinnamon on his skin.

  And he would’ve gone right back to do it all over again.

  “It’s complicated,” was what he ended up saying.

  Harris glanced at the wall clock. “Hit me with it. We’ve got time.”

  Dom didn’t want to. He already risked changing their team dynamics, without Harris somehow making it worse. “Fucked up on something. I don’t want to talk about it.”

  Harris’ eyebrows rose further. “You? Fucking up?”

  What had possessed him to kiss Sinclair, Dom had no idea. Except it had been the most electrifying kiss he’d had in a while, with lips and teeth and tongue. And he could still taste the hint of a white Russian in his mouth. An alpha shouldn’t taste that good. “Change of topic.”

  “Sure. How was bar night?”

  Something must’ve shown on his face, because Harris leaned in. “They’re related, aren’t they?” Harris asked shrewdly.

  Sometimes, Dom wished his captain wasn’t so sharp. He sighed. “Tell me about you and Valen. How’d you even start dating him?”

  Valen was the C Team captain, an alpha roughly twenty years younger than Harris. Dom had attended their wedding some years back. At that point, he’d thought that having a taste for alphas was an odd quirk of Harris’, and nothing more.

  Harris smiled wryly. “We started off by fighting.”

  Damn it. Dom winced. “That’s it? Fighting ends up with you getting married?”

  Harris glanced around, to make sure no one was within earshot. Then he dropped his voice. “Yeah. We were fighting in the locker room and things went sideways.”

  Dom rubbed his face. This did not sound good. Because that was exactly what had happened in that back alley with Sinclair. Just because it happened to Harris, doesn’t mean it’s going to happen to you.

  “I see,” he said, swallowing a mouthful of bitter coffee.

  “So, you fought with someone?” Harris asked, his eyes betraying the question he didn’t voice: Is there someone you’re interested in?

  Dom breathed out. “It was inconsequential.”

  Definitely the understatement of the century.

  “Should I reshuffle the roster?” Harris asked.

  “Gods, no.” Dom scowled. “I can deal with it.”

  Harris watched him, as though he was mentally checking off the alphas on their team, trying to figure out who Dom had butted heads with. “This doesn’t have to do with our disagreement, does it?” Harris asked casually, rising to refill his mug. “Two years back, on the new hire.”

  Dom kept his swearing to himself. In all their years of being captain and deputy, they’d only disagreed on team additions once. “Like I said, it’s minor. Nothing you need to bother with.”

  Harris looked at him askance. Dom focused on his coffee.

  They passed the next half hour in silence, Dom filling his mind with the familiar sounds of the station—trucks pulling in and out, alarms sounding, voices ringing through the garage.

  York showed up, slinging his arm around Alec’s neck. Brad and Nate chatted on their way to the locker room. Gareth arrived smelling like an omega, looking a lot happier than he’d been in years. Good for him.

  Dom was about to leave the kitchen to do something productive, when Sinclair stepped through the doorway and froze.

  Cinnamon wafted through the air. Dom remembered the sound of Sinclair’s groan against his lips, he remembered Sinclair shaking so hard with the force of his climax that, if Dom had released him, Sinclair might’ve fallen onto the ground.

  That memory made Dom’s throat go dry.

  Their gazes met. Sinclair narrowed his eyes, but a light flush crept up his throat. Was he... embarrassed?

  The last time Dom had seen him, Sinclair had been furious. But Dom’s conscience wouldn’t allow him to leave anyone to fend for themselves. Especially someone he’d shared an intimate moment with.

  Maybe Dom shouldn’t have coddled him—that was what he would’ve done for an omega. Sinclair wasn’t one.

  But it had felt right, damn it.

  Dom really, really hated the little voice that told him to protect Jesse Sinclair.

  He brought his mug to the sink, rinsing it. Somewhere behind, Harris said, “Oh, Jesse. Didn’t hear you step in. You haven’t had breakfast?”

  “No,” Sinclair rumbled. A paper bag rustled. He drew something out of there, the foil crinkling as he folded it back from his food.

  “That looks tasty,” Harris said.

  “I got it from downtown. Cheese, sausage, and scrambled egg.”

  Dom put his mug away, turning. All he’d intended was to say hi to Sinclair like a regular deputy should. Then he would head into the garage.

  Except Sinclair had wrapped his lips around a burrito that was—hell, it was roughly the size of Dom’s cock.

  Dom met his eyes, his greeting lodged in his throat. So he looked back at the burrito. No, bad move. He didn’t need to picture Sinclair sucking him off.

  Except the same thought seemed to have crossed Sinclair’s mind. He unwrapped his mouth from that blunt length, leaving it glistening.

  Then he met Dom’s stare, his jaw set in a
defiant jut.

  A thought flashed through Dom’s mind—what it would feel like to rub himself all over Sinclair’s face? To shove his bulge against Sinclair’s lips, and make him submit?

  Desire coursed through his veins; his body remembered that night.

  Ever so deliberately, Sinclair opened his mouth, biting all the way through the burrito. Then he chewed on it, and swallowed.

  Dom’s balls tightened. Maybe that had been a threat, but his body didn’t care.

  To the side, Harris coughed like he was trying to stifle a laugh.

  Damn it! Dom glared at his old friend. Harris only gave him a knowing look in return.

  We’re not recruiting a lover for you, Harris had said back then. Look how that had turned out.

  Before Dom could say a word, Valen poked his head into the kitchen. “Is Harris in here? Oh!”

  Valen grinned and hurried around Dom, making a beeline for the A Team captain. Then he caught Harris in a quick kiss, squeezing his ass. “I’m stepping down from station duties,” Valen said against Harris’ lips. “I love that this is our handover ritual.”

  Harris laughed. “You just grabbed my ass. That’s a handover?”

  Valen smiled. “What, should I call it a handshake?”

  He grabbed Harris’ ass and tried to shake it. Dom rolled his eyes. “Gods, Valen,” Dom muttered. “Don’t do that in public.”

  They’d been teammates years back, before Valen had transferred to the C Team—really so Valen and Harris could take turns spending time with their family.

  Valen only grinned, kissing Harris again. “I’m just giving my alpha something to look forward to when he gets home.”

  “Any more of that, and my teeth will rot,” Dom answered.

  When he glanced away, he found Sinclair still watching Valen and Harris, an odd look on his face.

  Sinclair had witnessed the intimacy of their team captains—he’d been with the station for a couple years. But this was the first time Dom was seeing his reaction to it. Was that... wistfulness? Or disbelief?

  Sinclair tore his gaze away, meeting Dom’s stare. Then he dropped his attention to his burrito, biting furiously into it.

  Everything that Harris and Valen were—Dom and Sinclair were not.

  And Dom felt it, suddenly, the joy on the other end of the kitchen. The joy that neither Sinclair nor himself had. The joy that he wouldn’t allow himself to have, because it put his heart at so much risk.

  When he met Sinclair’s eyes again, he found curiosity there. Wariness. As though Sinclair was wondering about the two of them.

  That’s never going to happen.

  Dom stepped out of the kitchen, his pulse thudding too hard.

  9

  Jesse Loses His Temper

  As the higher powers would have it, Jesse was stuck alone with Dom on this call.

  It usually didn’t happen. Most calls, there was at least one other firefighter with them, or Jesse would be with Harris instead. But right now, Harris and Gareth were leading two other calls, and the team had been stretched thin.

  “I didn’t think we had to rescue cats from trees,” Jesse muttered, driving the truck down the narrow street.

  Dom shrugged and flipped through the call details on his tablet. “It’s a service we provide.”

  Jesse bit down his inappropriate remarks about ‘services’. Especially between the two of them.

  He’d been on calls with Dom before. This one would be no different. Except it also was, because neither of them was acknowledging the most recent bar night. The one where they’d both creamed their pants. And Dom had sent Jesse home.

  Since that night, he’d cooled off and thought about it. Dom shoving him into the cab, paying for the ride. Jesse had been honest with himself, and he’d admitted that no one had done that for him before. If it had been an omega paying, Jesse would’ve refused. But an alpha... maybe he could let it slide.

  It doesn’t even count anyway. That bastard was drunk.

  He shoved that thought aside, pulling up in front of their destination. Jesse didn’t even have to double-check the house number—they’d been here a number of times before. For the exact same reason.

  Dom sighed, climbing out of the truck. Jesse grabbed the ladder and followed him to the door.

  Mrs. Mulberry greeted them, all delighted when she caught sight of Dom. “Oh, thank you for coming, dearie,” she gushed, ushering them into her yard. “Milly has been stuck in the tree for ages. She’s so scared!”

  From her perch in the tree, the tabby cat sent them an unimpressed look. Jesse felt the exact same way.

  “Jesse will get her down,” Dom said.

  Funny how Dom used his name when they were in public. Back in the alley, Dom had called Jesse by his last name—only then had Jesse realized exactly how Dom regarded him.

  Mulberry frowned. “Oh? Won’t you be the one getting her down instead?”

  Dom shrugged. “Jesse has the same qualifications as I do.”

  Mulberry looked uncertainly at Jesse; she’d always avoided engaging him in conversation.

  He gave her a nod, setting the ladder up against the tree branch. He didn’t mention the fresh ladder marks in the ground—probably from just a few minutes ago.

  Carefully, he climbed the ladder. Milly never seemed to mind the various firefighters rescuing her, but Jesse was wary anyway. A cat had scratched him when he was a child.

  He held his hands out to the tabby, half-expecting her to reach out and sink her claws into his fingers. But she stared placidly at him, even as he gently scooped her off the branch.

  Jesse made sure she was tucked safely against himself, before descending the ladder. Once he was on the ground, he held the cat out to Mrs. Mulberry.

  Mulberry took her cat back, being very careful not to touch his hands. “Ah, thank you,” she said awkwardly. Her gaze drifted over the silvery scars on Jesse’s arms, lingering on the round beads implanted just beneath his skin.

  “What are those?” she asked.

  They were little things half the size of his pinky nail, but they bulged out enough that they cast shadows across his skin, making them appear larger than they actually were.

  If he was being honest, Jesse had completely no idea what purpose those beads served. Rutherford had checked for them every time. After Jesse had been freed from the Facility, a government doctor had tried to explain. Jesse had walked right out, ignoring the stacks of files on the doctor’s desk.

  He didn’t want to know what Larson had done to him. He wanted a new beginning.

  “They’re beads,” he said to Mulberry.

  Mulberry frowned. She was a retired elementary school teacher, if Jesse remembered right. “What are they for?”

  He shrugged, feeling Dom’s stare on his skin. Probably judging him again.

  “Are you a gangster?” Mulberry asked next, looking horrified.

  Jesse was about to answer, when Dom cut in. “No,” Dom said. “Our team wouldn’t have welcomed him if he were.”

  Welcomed? That was the last word Jesse expected him to use. He stared at Dom in surprise, trying to understand. Dom didn’t have to come to his rescue; Jesse had handled similar remarks over the past few years.

  Hell, Dom didn’t even know the details about Jesse’s past. For all he knew, Jesse could really have been a gangster. Nate had mentioned that Gareth and Harris had asked for details about Jesse, but that Dom had never approached him at all.

  For Dom to step in... Did he think Mulberry wouldn’t believe Jesse?

  “Will that be all?” Dom asked her.

  She smiled brightly again, gushing when he got her to sign on the call tablet.

  It was only when they were back in the truck, that Dom asked, “So, what’re they really for?”

  Jesse’s skin prickled under his attention. Not for the first time, he wanted to scratch those beads out of his arms. So Dom wouldn’t keep staring at them like that.

  The doctor in Highton had said, Do
n’t remove them.

  Jesse rubbed his callused hands down his arms, the beads pressing indents into his skin. “Don’t know.”

  Dom furrowed his brow. “You don’t?”

  “No.”

  “How the hell do you keep things in your body that you don’t know about?” Dom looked incredulous. “Didn’t you do that to yourself?”

  Anger surged through Jesse’s chest. “Must be nice to have control over your body, huh?”

  For once, Dom had nothing to say to that. And his silence filled Jesse with recklessness.

  “You ever stopped to think,” Jesse growled, “that there’s people out there who’ve been trapped against their own will, being cut open because someone else thinks it’s fun?”

  Dom blinked. Then he glanced at Jesse’s head, where the most obvious scars were. He looked at Jesse’s face, with the blotchy skin and silvery lines, and the puckered blemishes riding down Jesse’s jaw.

  Vaguely, Jesse knew that the moment Dom understood his outburst, it would also mean that Dom would understand Jesse had been powerless. Less.

  He refused to let it humiliate him. Not right now. Because Dom had been judging him for three entire years. That bastard had no idea what it was like to dread every time the door slammed open, because Larson would be there with his people and their tranq guns, ready to take Jesse down for another experiment.

  “You’ve never been strapped down,” Jesse hissed, leaning over the space between their seats, pressing their faces so close that Dom’s eyes blurred into a mess of copper. “You’ve never been stabbed over and over with different poisons just to see if you’ve built up a tolerance for them. You’ve never been paraded around to see if someone will bid high enough for your body this time. You’ve never been someone else’s fucking property, Dom, so don’t you dare tell me what to do with my body.”

  Jesse realized how close he’d gotten to Dom. How hot Dom burned against him. Then he realized how much ammunition he’d also given that bastard. All handy bullets to shoot him down with.

  He sat back heavily in his seat, breathing hard, trying to calm down. Back to the station. Maybe the other guys would be there. And he wouldn’t have to see Dom judging him anymore.