Alpha's Valentine's Day Virgin

by Casey Morgan

  On my way to the wooden bar, I caught sight of the drifter with the chocolate chip colored eyes from the day before sitting in the corner. I couldn’t believe it was him, even though I guessed this was the type of place for someone like him. I just hadn’t thought I’d ever see him again. He glanced up and met my gaze but quickly looked away.

  The bartender leaned forward to meet me as soon as I took a barstool. He was a tall man, well over six foot and built of compact muscle. A black braid lay over his shoulder. He looked over Mary and me, his tattooed forearms pressed to the bar.

  “You two kids have ID?” he asked. “I can’t serve you if you’re underage.”

  I felt to my side where I usually carried my purse and found that in my hurry to get here, I had forgotten it. I looked at Mary and she shook her head. She hadn’t brought hers either.

  The bartender started to say something about us leaving but I cut him off.

  “We’re not here to drink,” I explained. “Please, I just need to ask a question.”

  His gray eyes widened at this, but he seemed to relax, so I felt like I could continue.

  “My family owns the Crescent Moon Bakery just a few blocks down.” In my nervousness, I pointed in the direction of the shop and my home, as if he could see it through the walls. “Well, we have been having trouble with the Southland gang. They want us to move, but we can’t.”

  As I paused, I realized that most of the bar was now listening in to my little story. That was good, I thought. Maybe someone would volunteer.

  “My father got attacked this morning. He was beaten so bad he can’t work, and, well, it’s one of our busiest times of the year—or it’s supposed to be. Anyway, my friend and I are looking to hire protection.”

  There were a few laughs and whispers around the bar. I looked around, trying to connect with faces and look into people’s eyes to gather sympathy. Most looked away.

  “I need a man or a couple of men to watch the bakery day and night, until the day after Valentine’s Day, when the bulk of our orders will be over. Its just a few days of work. I can pay a little, and we will feed you.”

  I looked around, hoping for tons of volunteers, but no one came forward at all. There were more laughs and whispers—after a few minutes, people started going back to their business and ignoring me.

  The bartender nodded to the room.

  “Looks like no one is interested, little girl. Why don’t you call the police?”

  Mary was pulling on my sweater again anxious to get us out of there. I couldn’t leave yet, though. This was too important.

  “We called the cops,” I explained, keeping my voice loud enough to carry over the noise and reach the patrons. “Please, we are desperate! My father could have died!”

  No one looked over. No one was listening. They were all pretending that the little annoyance that I was was nothing. Rage filled my heart and I clenched my fists.

  “Are you kidding me?” I howled. “Are all you big, strong bikers too scared to take on the Southland gang?”

  The bar tender laughed.

  “Oh, honey. We can take on the Southland gang all we want. We just don’t care. Your problems are your own, little girl. Now you best be off, before you find something worse.”

  I wouldn’t budge. Someone here was going to agree to help me before I left.

  Chapter Seven

  Mason

  “I just need some help!” the young woman by the bar said.

  Her voice was becoming more and more desperate. Tears were threatening to leak out of her large, beautiful blue eyes, but she held them back and looked about, as if trying to connect with anyone.

  The people around the bar were starting to snicker. I also caught a few unsavory comments about the young lady’s anatomy. They weren’t wrong—she had a body so curvy that it would make a man weep—but the comments were in poor taste.

  I took another sip of my whiskey and kept my head down. Part of me felt pulled to get involved. I wanted to help. I wanted to rescue the pretty little thing and take everything she could offer in return for my services.

  But she was just a human and I was done with trying to have a relationship with a human. There were parts of me she would never be able to understand or fulfill, and it just wasn’t worth trying.

  Her small friend pulled at her sleeve and huddled into herself. How the two of them managed to bring themselves in here was beyond me. They were either really brave or really stupid. I wasn’t sure which.

  One of the men at a pool table set down his cue and walked towards the girls. He had his hands clamped on his large belt buckle and swaggered, throwing back his broad shoulders with each step. When he stood before them, he leaned so his pelvis pushed towards them both.

  “I don’t want money, but if you offer something else, I might be game.”

  He grinned down at the girls. I caught a flash in the light; most of his teeth were capped with silver.

  “Like what?” the brave girl stood her ground, her friend crumpling into a ball behind her, and looked him right in the face.

  The man leaned forward and dropped his voice to a whisper. I didn’t catch what he said, but it was enough to make the woman turn a deep shade of red. She slapped him. Hard.

  The man’s head jerked back, and he brought a hand to his cheek. But he didn’t get mad; luckily, he just laughed. The whole bar laughed with him.

  “Hey! Hey!” the bartender yelled.

  He was leaning so far over the bar, it was like he was going to jump over it.

  “Leave the girl be.”

  The man held up his hands.

  “Whatever you say, Leon,” he said and sauntered back over to the pool tables.

  His friends slapped him on the back in congratulations. I snorted to myself in disgust.

  “Little girl,” the bartender addressed the woman now. “No one is going to help you. You might as well be off.”

  He pointed towards the door, adamant that she leave.

  Her round, angelic face dropped, and she pulled her honey-blonde ponytail over her shoulder.

  “Cowards,” she muttered as she looked towards the floor.

  A single tear slid down her cheek.

  “Wait.”

  My voice came out before I had become aware that I would speak. I was on my feet before I knew it, too.

  “I will go. I will help,” I told her.

  All eyes in the bar turned to me. Most turned back to their own concerns quickly, but her eyes—the color of the sky on an icy day—stayed on me.

  It was in that moment that I recognized her. The day before, I had passed her bakery and she had offered me a cinnamon roll. I hadn’t taken it then. But she had been kind to me and now I had the chance to do the same for her. It was right.

  With a new determination in my movements, I grabbed my bag and left my empty glass on the table. The two women waited for me in the middle of the bar. The brave one watched my every step; her friend cowered.

  “Lead on,” I said, when I stood before them.

  She nodded and turned towards the door.

  “I’m glad one of you has balls,” she snapped loud enough for the whole bar to hear.

  I laughed. This girl had some fire to her.

  Once we were outside, I let them lead a little bit. My mind needed to process what I had just promised to do, and my eyes wanted to feast on the brave girl’s body. Watching her walk was the best treat I had had in ages.

  Today, her long skirt was made of black corduroy. It hugged her wide hips, gripped her round ass, and fell narrowly about her legs. Her sweater was red. Its soft fabric was loose in the waist but pulled tightly over her huge breasts.

  She would turn back to look at me every few seconds to make sure I was still there; the movement made her breasts jiggle and sway.

  “I can pay,” she reiterated, “but not much. Just fifty a day. I’ll feed you and give you a place to sleep for as long as it takes. I’m Celeste, by the way, and this is Mary.”
<
br />   “Mason,” I supplied, and she smiled a bit.

  Celeste seemed a bit more nervous now. Maybe she hadn’t really considered the implications of letting a strange man into her life. A stranger that looked a little crazy.

  I glanced down at myself. My duster was wet and muddy from all the snow I’d trod through this morning. The hems of my jeans were wet, too. This wasn’t the kind of appearance I wanted to give off, so I pulled off my coat and wrapped it over one of my arms.

  I also pulled my hoodie down and ran my fingers through my wavy hair. It had gotten a little long. I hadn’t bothered to cut it recently.

  When the girl looked back again, her eyes went a little wide at my change in appearance. I smiled at her, trying to appear friendly—trying to appear safe. She grinned back.

  “Perhaps, I can get a shower?” I asked. “I would like to be presentable to your parents.”

  She nodded; her smile getting a little bigger.

  “Of course.”

  When we reached the bakery, the sign I had seen the day before was gone. Fresh graffiti was covering the windows and walls, and there were traces of blood in the street. The whole place was a mess and I began to understand why Celeste was so desperate.

  A tall, narrow faced woman with jet black hair pulled into a bun was out front wiping at the paint. She turned as we approached and frowned.

  “Where did you go, Celeste?” she scolded. “I’m upstairs trying to help your father, certain that our loving daughter is minding the shop, but no! I come down to yell. Mr. Francis walked in wanting a bagel and found no one to serve him and the outside of the shop a mess like it is. He became alarmed and almost called the police!”

  “I’m sorry, Ma!” Celeste stood in front of her mother and held up her hands.

  Her friend, Mary, rushed into the building without a word.

  “I went to get help.”

  Celeste pointed towards me.

  The narrow-faced woman looked me up and down. Her frown stayed firmly planted to her lips and her eyebrows pulled closer together.

  “How is this stranger going to help?” she finally asked.

  “Mr….” Celeste turned her blue eyes to me.

  “Whitepaw,” I supplied.

  “Mr. Whitepaw is going to protect the bakery,” Celeste explained. “He will run off the gang members till Dad is well again. We need to be able to bake and get the cookie baskets done. Valentine’s Day is so close. We can’t be struggling or closing up during one of our busiest times of the year.”

  Her mother put her hands on her hips; the rag she was using earlier was clenched tight and it dripped onto her skirt. She frowned at me more deeply. She clearly wasn’t liking this idea at all.

  Celeste dropped her shoulders.

  “Ma, come on. We have to do something. Dominic and Big Dog won’t listen to us.”

  The desperation in her voice called to me in a way I hadn’t felt before. It was stupid, but there was something about this woman. Even though she was human, I had to help her. I dropped my bag near the door and reached my hand out to her mother.

  “Let me,” I offered.

  With questioning eyes and her mouth opened just slightly in shock, Celeste’s mother handed me the wet rag. I grabbed the nearby bucket and started scrubbing at the paint. Both women turned to watch me. They held their tongues for a few minutes, but then the mother blew out a breath.

  “We do need help. Mr. Whitepaw?”

  I turned to look at her.

  “I’m Martha Blenko. My girl, Celeste, and I welcome you to the Crescent Moon Bakery. Can I take your bag and coat inside?” she asked politely.

  “No, Ma’am, that’s okay. And please call me Mason.”

  I raised my hands up to stop her from picking up my things.

  “My coat and bag are very dirty, and I would not want to spoil your nice clothes. Just leave them be and I will bring them inside when I finish with this paint, please.”

  The old woman gave me a brief smile.

  “Very well. I will make you a sandwich. We don’t have much to spare around here, but we will keep you fed.”

  “Thank you,” I told her. “That would be very kind of you.”

  She nodded quickly and pulled the door open. Celeste held back, looking me over and shifting her weight from foot to foot. I could tell she wanted to talk to me more, but her mother would have none of it.

  The tall woman waited a few moments and then waved her hand at the interior of the bakery. Celeste looked her in the eyes, and for a second it seemed like she was going to argue, but she didn’t.

  “Sorry you haven’t gotten that shower,” she told me.

  “It’s okay,” I said. “I don’t mind being thrown into this work. I’ll clean up afterwards, since I’ll just get dirty again anyway now.”

  She gave me one last look, blushed a bit, and hurried into the bakery.

  I would be lying if I said that I didn’t watch her plump ass as she walked away.

  Chapter Eight

  Mason

  Rubbing the paint off the walls took me the rest of the afternoon. It was hard work, but the day was pleasant. It didn’t snow and the clouds stayed away.

  Being at The Crescent Moon Bakery felt comfortable, like I was part of a normal life. Through the windows, I watched Celeste and her friend work at the counter and bring trays of baked goods in from the back.

  There was a steady stream of customers, not a crowd but one or two per hour. I liked to watch Celeste talk and laugh with the people coming in for a sweet treat. She had the best smile, wide and bright.

  It was enough to make me feel a little weak in the knees—which was very out of character for me. I still wasn’t sure what it was about this girl, that she could have this type of effect on me when normally I was strong as nails.

  Every time I caught myself staring, I pulled my eyes away and went back to work. This was just a job and the human girl was off limits. I knew this but had to remind myself often, especially when I caught my eyes roaming to her ample chest or her round backside.

  The bakery closed around four o’clock in the afternoon, which was around the same time I finished removing the paint. Celeste came outside with a cup of tea and a small plate that held a muffin.

  “I expect you’re getting hungry.”

  She offered both with a smile.

  I waved a hand in refusal.

  “Honestly, I still want that shower you promised, before anything touches my lips. Do you mind?”

  “Not a problem. Follow me.”

  She held the door open and I grabbed my things. The inside of the bakery was warm and inviting.

  The wooden chairs and tables were old, and a bit worn but still charming. About five tables filled the seating area. To the right side of the room was the counter and glass display cases. Behind that, double doors led to the kitchen beyond.

  To the very left of the counter was a wooden staircase that led up to the owner’s apartment, where Celeste and her family lived. It was all neat and tidy and friendly. This was a place that was loved, and it showed.

  Mary, her little red-headed friend, was mopping the floor. She stared at me as we walked past. Her eyes wide and her small body was shaking like a leaf. I gave her a smile, but she just dropped her eyes.

  Celeste, and her fine ass, led me upstairs and down a tan carpeted hallway. She was close enough to touch, but I kept my hands firmly clenched on my belongings. She was a temptation, nothing more. I told myself that I would help her and then leave.

  She nodded her blonde head towards the last door in the hallway.

  “The shower is in there. The towels are fresh. Please feel free to use any soap or shampoo you’d like. Mine might be a little fruity. I’m not sure about my dad’s. But that would probably be a better choice.”

  I held my hand up and touched my nose.

  “Makes no difference to me,” I explained. “I can’t smell a thing.”

  Her sweet eyes widened, and she gasped.
/>   “Nothing at all?” she asked, in surprise.

  I nodded.

  “Not the cookies I made earlier or the bread that is baking right now?”

  “Not a thing. Bad accident.”

  It was an unclear explanation, but that was all I could give her. Celeste would never understand the real story. Government experimentation on werewolves was not something I think she would believe. Most humans wouldn’t.

  “I’m sorry,” she murmured.

  She looked at me blankly for a few seconds and like she wanted to say something more but couldn’t find the words. Finally, she gave up and then moved to walk back down the hall. I watched her go, until she disappeared down the stairs.

  I headed into the bathroom and turned the light on. Glad to have the chance to clean up, I rummaged through my backpack and found my clippers.

  I cut my hair and shaved off my beard, making sure to keep the fallen hair in one spot so I could clean it up easily. I washed my jeans in the sink next and hung them on a hanger that was attached to the door so that they could dry.

  Then, I started the shower and pulled my shirt over my head. I looked at myself in the mirror. Scars covered my chest; they were memories and marks from fights in the past. I had come across several alphas in my travels. They were hard men, some military trained like me, all of us desperate to find a home and a mate.

  When I was younger, I had scrapped over territory and the right to pass. Some of the times, I won. Only those who had found their place were able to turn me away, because they had the power of the pack and their mate making them stronger.

  All in all, it didn’t matter. None of the territories I won were worth it. Without a woman, a werewolf mate of my own, those places were just land and cities empty of true meaning, so I wandered on. Now, I was tired and Gray Acres seemed as good a place as any to stop and live out my life alone.

  I shook my head and focused on the here and now. It would be good to be clean, and to sleep indoors for the night like a man not in the bushes in wolf form. I could easily fight off these human men that were troubling Celeste and her family. Of that I had no doubt. The true question was if I could keep my hands off the human girl.