Whisk'er Away: Cruising with Alphas (Meet Your Alpha Book 4)

by Gwen Knight

  I gave a resigned grunt, clicked the link, pulled up the page, and hovered over Become a Member. Like most dating sites, I couldn’t see anyone until I joined. Fair enough. Security measures and all that.

  Honestly, what would it hurt to sign up and look around? I hadn’t lied when I’d told my mother I didn’t have time for dating. Taking over the business and the pride consumed every moment of my life. But the thought of meeting my mate niggled at the back of my mind. What if she was on this site? How would I know?

  Mathematical equations, apparently, according to the About page. Something about how they paired us up with the top five percent in order to guarantee a perfect match. Sounded too good to be true, in all honesty. Still, though. What would it hurt to try?

  “Well, here goes nothing,” I whispered before clicking join now.

  2

  Kendra

  The ticking of the clock thundered in my ears, each stroke another nail in the proverbial coffin. Boom, boom, boom. Soon, forty-five seconds became thirty, thirty became fifteen, until finally, the hour struck. And as though sensing my despair, the grandfather clock sitting across from me came to life and heralded the start of this dreadful day with a melodious chorus of bells.

  I wanted to smash the stupid thing.

  One year.

  Three-hundred and sixty-five days.

  Eight thousand and sixty hours.

  However many minutes that totalled. I’d always stopped calculating at hours. Eight thousand hours since my husband’s death. Eight thousand torturous hours. So large a number, I couldn’t even wrap my head around it. To me, it’d felt so much longer. Every day another wasted lifetime without him. Another day just struggling to breathe.

  The twelfth chime rang ominously through the house, followed closely by an eerie silence. I thought I would have grown accustomed to it by now, but no. I missed the little things the most. The sound of the house coming alive beneath Daniel’s feet. The lights flickering on and off as he moved from room to room. The feel of his fingers idly caressing the back of my neck while we sat together on the couch. The sight of his clothes hanging next to mine. Now, half my closet stood empty, a vacuous shell of its former glory. Hell, I even missed hearing him sing along—loudly and horribly off-key—to Bohemian Rhapsody.

  I wanted nothing more than to close my eyes and turn the clock back a year. Things had been so different then. I vaguely remembered being happy. It all seemed like a dream now, a hazed memory of laughter and warmth and love. Especially when compared to the broken husk of a woman currently sitting on the couch.

  Heat sprang behind my eyes and tears slipped down my cheeks. Normally, I brushed them away before anyone could see, but tonight, I let them fall. For Daniel. For me. For the life we could have had before it was stolen from us.

  “I miss you,” I whispered to the air.

  Of course, no one answered.

  My composure slipped, and my chin started to tremble. No. I refused to break down. It’d been a few months since my last episode—I didn’t want to ruin my record. It’d taken me a month after his death to realize people didn’t want to see a grieving woman. I’d learned quickly how to lock up my emotions. But in the privacy of my house, it’d taken a hell of a lot longer. I couldn’t fall down that rabbit hole again. So, with a deep breath, I squared my shoulders and scrubbed my cheeks.

  My phone buzzed once. Twice. A third time. Not a text, then.

  I glanced at the screen, unsurprised to see my sister’s name. I debated answering. It didn’t take a genius to know why she was calling. But I wasn’t sure I could handle this conversation at twelve-oh-five in the morning. Maybe tomorrow, after a restless night of sleep.

  I bit my lip, then folded my hands in my lap and watched as the call went to voicemail. I’d return her call in the morning, maybe when I felt a bit more refreshed and less raw.

  Seemed my sister had a different opinion, though. My phone lit up again, buzzing across the living room table.

  With a long sigh, I swiped my finger across the screen to accept the call and placed her on speaker.

  “Knew you’d be awake.” Brittany’s voice breezed effortlessly through the line. I could hear something in the background, music or a movie, or something. At least someone was having a good time tonight. “How are you?”

  My eyes fluttered shut and I sank back against the couch. God, I hated that question with a fiery passion. No one ever wanted to hear the truth. They wanted to hear me say I was fine, or on the mend, or something completely uplifting even when I felt like throwing up. Why bother asking?

  “Kendra? Ugh. Just a second,” she said. I heard her hand slide over the microphone, then bits of a muffled conversation as she asked someone to turn the sound down. I frowned and glanced back at the clock. Where the hell was she at this time of night? “Sorry about that. You still here?”

  I uttered a noncommittal sound.

  “Good. So, how are you?”

  “I’m fine,” I offered, speaking the words I most hated.

  “Sure you are. Is that why you sound like you’ve been crying?”

  I glanced away from the phone and didn’t respond.

  “I’m coming over,” Brittany announced.

  Oh, God. I scrambled for my phone and took her off speaker. “Please, don’t. I’m fine, I swear.”

  “Kendra—”

  “Seriously, Britt. I’m fine,” I plowed onward. Maybe some people would have loved the thought of their sister coming over to comfort them. Not me. It wasn’t that I hated Brittany—I loved the girl to pieces. But there were some moments in life when you needed to be alone. And tonight was one of them. This was one anniversary I didn’t want to celebrate, and having her here would make me feel like I had to put on a chipper face.

  It sounded exhausting.

  “Too bad. Maybe I wanted to see you tonight.”

  I couldn’t help but scoff. That seemed highly unlikely. “No, you don’t. You only think you need to be here to take care of me. And I promise, you don’t.”

  She chuckled, the light sound carrying over the line. “Well, that’s what little sisters are for, right?”

  “No, that’s what nosy sisters are for,” I corrected, then winced when I caught the sound of my biting tone.

  “Don’t do that,” Brittany whispered.

  I blinked. “Do what?”

  “Push me away. You’ve pushed away Mom. You’ve downright denounced the pack. And now you’re trying to push me away. We all want to be here for you today.”

  Sure. Today. But not yesterday, or the day before, or the day before that. It wasn’t as though I walked around endlessly sobbing, but I saw the looks they passed one another. I’d even heard some of them talking when they thought I was out of ear shot, whispering among themselves. It’s going on a year. Hasn’t she moved on yet? Is she at least dating? Apparently, a year was some magical number. They all expected me to wake up tomorrow and be happy. Be my old self again. They didn’t understand that I would never be the old me again. That losing your mate changed you.

  “Honestly, Britt, I’m all right,” I assured her. “I was thinking about heading to bed anyway. No point in your coming over.”

  “Liar.” She sighed, her exasperation carrying over the line as clear as day. “Look, I won’t push you. But if you want some company tonight, a shoulder to cry on, just say the word.”

  I appreciated the offer—I truly did. But I was done with their pitying looks, done with the gossip and the crazed comments suggesting that I get over it and move on. I didn’t want to feed the flames anymore. Britt loved me, I knew that, but she didn’t understand. None of them did. And I honestly hoped they never had to. Losing your mate was something I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy. Let them remain blissfully unaware of how it feels to lose half your soul—to wake up every morning feeling empty and sad, knowing that physically you were perfectly fine, but emotionally, you wanted to claw out someone’s eyes.

  And…the tears had returned. I blin
ked them back before Britt caught on.

  “Are you going to visit Daniel’s grave tomorrow?” she asked, oblivious of my near melt-down.

  “Of course.”

  “Well, if you won’t let me come see you tonight, can I at least come with you tomorrow? I’ve been meaning to visit him.”

  I pursed my lips as I contemplated my response. It wasn’t that I didn’t appreciate the support, but sometimes having someone there placed a burden on me. Made me feel trapped. As though I couldn’t express my true emotions.

  “I swear I won’t bother you,” she assured me, sensing the reason behind my hesitation. “I won’t hover nearby. I can even wait by the car, if you’d prefer. I just want to be there for you tomorrow.”

  Jesus. I blinked back another wave of tears. Where the hell were they all coming from? “All right.”

  “Wait, what?”

  A sad smile tugged at my lips. “I said you can come.”

  “Great! And tomorrow night, how about we go for a drink or two. I know the perfect spot. We can find a dark corner to crawl into and talk. It’s been awhile since we’ve done that. How’s that sound?”

  For the first time tonight, I laughed—though it was a pale imitation. “That sounds wonderful, actually.”

  “It does, doesn’t it? All right. If I’m not coming over, then I should probably get to sleep. Promise me you’re going to bed. Don’t sit there looking at his photos or staring at your wedding ring. Promise me, Kendra.”

  I cleared my throat. “I…I put those away.”

  Silence lashed out at me. I pictured my sister sitting at her table with wide eyes. It wasn’t every day I stunned her into silence.

  “You did?” she finally asked in a weak voice.

  “About a week ago. It…felt like the right time. I kept a few things. A sweater I always loved. A picture of us on our honeymoon. That sort of thing.” I left out that I’d kept the pregnancy test. Some things were too painful to toss away.

  “And you didn’t call me?”

  I bristled at her indignant tone. “It wasn’t about you.”

  My sister rasped out a series of curses. “You keep pushing us away, Kendra. We only want to help. Did it ever occur to you that we could have been there to help you? To give emotional support while you packed up his things? Or even that maybe we needed that bit of closure, too? You weren’t the only one who lost him, you know. He was our alpha as well as your husband.”

  Scalding anger whipped through me. I refused to discuss this with her. Him being the alpha was the reason he’d been killed, after all. And in my eyes, the pack deserved nothing from me.

  “Kendra?” Britt demanded. “Did you hear me?”

  “I heard you,” I ground out. “Look, if you still want to come tomorrow, that’s fine. But I’m not going to sit here arguing with you about this. And I swear, Britt, if anyone else shows their faces tomorrow—”

  “I know,” she snapped. “But don’t you think this is a little ridiculous? You do know the pack cares, right? We miss you. We miss Daniel, too.”

  A sarcastic laugh slipped past my lips before I could stop it. Oh, yes. The pack cared so much. So much, in fact, that they’d let the murderous bastard who’d killed Daniel into our pack. They’d even gone so far as to make him the new alpha. Treated him as though he’d always belonged with us. Well, fuck that. I refused to take part in that. Daniel had been our pack’s alpha for nearly a decade. And the second he’d died, they’d welcomed in the new alpha with open arms. Callous bastards, the whole lot of them.

  “Meet me at the graveyard at eleven.”

  I didn’t wait for Britt’s response before hanging up. My sister cared, I knew that. But her level of caring capped out when she actually had to help. I remembered the initial days. She’d avoided me like the plague, claiming that she hadn’t known how to help me. Still, it was more than our mother had ever offered. Barely three months had passed before she’d shown up at my cabin, dressed to the nines in her designer pantsuit and ridiculous hat, insisting enough was enough. According to her, I’d played the grieving widow card long enough, and it was time for me to rejoin the living.

  I’d slammed the door in her face and we hadn’t spoken since. Nor did I want to.

  Tossing my phone aside, I rose from the couch and shambled into the kitchen where a bottle of scotch awaited. Daniel’s scotch. A twenty-one-year-old Glenfiddich. Personally, I loathed the taste and smell of it. But right now, it felt appropriate. I grabbed a glass out of the cupboard, filled it with ice, and poured the amber liquid on top.

  Tonight, the smell didn’t bother me so much. It felt more like a happy memory. I hated drinking the liquor itself, but I’d always enjoyed the taste of it on Daniel’s lips. I tipped back the glass and took my first sip, barely wincing as it slid down my throat.

  Perfect. And just what I needed to help me sleep tonight.

  With the bottle tucked under my arm and the glass cradled in my hand, I headed into the bedroom. The king-sized bed felt way too big for me now, but after a little more scotch, I wouldn’t care anymore. I emptied the rest of the glass in three long swallows, then kicked off my clothes.

  I sat on the edge of the mattress and poured myself another drink. I didn’t waste any time, either. It went down as smoothly as the first. Once I started to feel warm inside, I slipped under the covers and sprawled across the pillows.

  I quickly fell asleep with the memory of Daniel on my lips.

  3

  Leo

  The sound of giggling children lifted my head. I tore my gaze away from my tablet, and with a smile, watched as three of our younger pride members ran circles around each other. Their enthusiasm was infectious, as was the sound of their laughter.

  “Betcha you can’t catch me!” one of them cried out as he dove behind a tree.

  The other two shared a single glance, then split in separate directions and stalked toward the boy, effectively surrounding him. I lifted a brow and leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees. For ones so young, they’d already mastered the art of hunting. The little boy behind the tree laughed and darted to his left, only to instantly dig in his heels when he realized his mistake. Instead, he shot off to the right, only to be tackled by the third boy.

  Children they might be, but this little game was a stark reminder that we were also half animal with the instincts to match. The third boy sat atop his conquest, grinning, before they all returned to running in circles, completely unconcerned about who’d won and who’d lost.

  “All right. Play time’s over!” a deep voice boomed through the park.

  I stole a glance in that general direction to find Jack Collens striding through the field. Another pride member, and the man my father had recently put in charge of training the children to shift and meld with their inner lions.

  It’d been a long time since I’d attended any training sessions. Decades, even. So long that Jack’s father had been my teacher. Seemed the old man had finally passed the mantle on. And if I wasn’t mistaken, a few of the nearby mothers seemed quite pleased with this change.

  Jack placed his fingers in his mouth and released a shrill whistle that had every last child in the clearing snapping to attention. Seconds later, they gathered around him, their eyes shining with eagerness.

  “Now, who remembers what we learned last class?”

  A small hand darted into the air. “We learned how to calm our minds. A calm lion is a happy lion.”

  I bit back a sharp grin. I remembered Jack’s father uttering that mantra to us. But it’d never helped me. A dominant lion was never a calm lion. Violence often hovered near the brink of our consciousness. Perhaps distasteful, but alphas often had to resort to such methods.

  I couldn’t even count the number of fights I’d been in growing up. The constant need to protect the weaker and defend the stupid was ingrained within us. And I’d always known I would claim the pride after my father. It wasn’t because I was his son that he was handing the pride to me. It w
as because I was the most dominant.

  “Good, Davie,” Jack said before glancing at the other shining faces. “What else did we learn?”

  “That we can’t ever allow our emotions to control us.”

  Jack’s low chuckle carried across the park. “How about we let one of the others answer?”

  I saw now why my father had placed Jack in this role. The man was a calm and steady teacher. Never growling or curling a lip at the children. My papa had told me once that everyone was born to a certain role, and at a young age, they’d known mine. A furry spitfire, my mother had often called me.

  The sound of approaching footsteps caught my attention. I glanced over my shoulder to find my father marching toward me. The man might have been over one-hundred-and-fifty years old, but he was as spry as ever. Only the faint speckling of gray throughout his hair hinted at his age. It gave him a distinguished air—one I hoped to someday possess. But it was his stance and presence that screamed alpha. Two qualities I’d inherited from him.

  “I didn’t expect to find you out here,” my father grumbled as he sat next to me on the park bench.

  Apprehension lifted a brow. If he’d come out here in search of me, he must have needed something. “I wanted a bit of fresh air. Figured I could handle some matters while enjoying a fall breeze.”

  My father’s lips curled back into what I knew was meant to be a grin. Somehow, though, it came off as a sneer. All fang and bite. “You always were the outdoorsy sort.”