Alpha’s Bane

by Renee Rose

  I clear my throat and pretend we weren’t just dancing around the topic of anal sex. “Are we gonna do this in the ring? Fight, I mean?” I clarify, lest he’s thinking I’m still talking about buttstuff.

  Trey blinks and shakes himself like he’s waking from a dream. Hopefully not a dream about bending me over, running his large hands up my legs and preparing me to take his cock in my...

  Gah! Stop thinking about it.

  “Uh, yeah. In the ring.” He waves and I march inside the pen, glad for a chance to turn my back and hide my flaming face.

  I’ve come to a realization in the last twelve hours since I saw him. Trey Robson is an itch, a big, annoying, delicious itch and sooner or later, I’m going to scratch. I know he’s a player, I know it won’t last. Twelve years ago he used up my love and threw me away.

  But I’m a big girl now, and it’s my turn to use him and walk away. I just gotta keep my pride and dignity intact. And, when it ends, my heart.

  “Have you done this before?” he asks, coming into the caged area and closing the chain link door.

  “Fought with you?”

  “No.” He frowns. “We fight all the time.”

  “Didn’t used to though.” I try to keep my voice breezy but fail.

  “Whose fault is that?” He raises a blond brow. His eyes are ice cold.

  I wrap my arms around myself to hide a shiver. “Fault goes both ways, I think.”

  “Yeah.”

  I’m surprised by his agreement, and we both look at the floor for a moment.

  “How about this?” I walk to him and hold out my hand. “What’s done is done. Truce?”

  “Truce,” he repeats softly and takes my hand. Just like that I’m falling, falling into the depths of his ocean eyes, falling for the magic of Trey. The touch of his fingers sings through me, pulling up all sorts of memories of when I wished he’d touch me forever. Twelve years after we walked away from each other, away from the ruin of our love, I wish he’d hung on tighter. Even after we hurt each other so completely, I could climb into his arms and never leave.

  Trey drops my hand. The spell breaks. “Ready?”

  “Yep.” I bounce on the balls of my feet. If I can’t hug him, I can hit him. I’d prefer that in the long run, anyway.

  Then he pulls off his shirt.

  “What…” My mouth is suddenly dry. “What are you doing?”

  He drops his t-shirt at his feet, rubbing the tattoos on his arms absently. His lean muscles pop and flex, perfectly on display without him even trying. “Getting ready to fight, sweetheart.”

  I narrow my eyes. I want to call foul play, but then I’d have to admit the sight of him without his shirt affects me. “Should I take off mine then?”

  His gaze darkens. “If you want.”

  I call his bluff, peel my shirt off and drop it on the floor next to his. My girls are stuffed into a hot pink sports bra, straining against the fabric, proudly on display.

  It’s Trey’s turn to look dazed while I smirk at him. “Turnabout is fair play.”

  “Payback is a bitch,” he retorts, but a smile dances around his mouth.

  “Nope. Payback is a she-wolf named Sheridan.” With fantastic tatas.

  I turn from him and pretend to do some warm up stretches. I definitely don’t bend and pause in positions that best showcase my butt. Of course not. That’d be cruel.

  When I whirl back, he has his eyes closed and is pinching the bridge of his nose while taking deep breaths.

  “Everything all right?” I ask with as much innocence as I can muster.

  “Yeah. Just...yeah. All right.” He drops his hand and looks everywhere but at my face, my hips, or my cleavage. “We’ll start simple. I come at you, and you try to stop me.”

  “That’s simple?” I ask dryly, but shrug. “Come on then.”

  “All right.” He blows out a breath. Then he comes at me, eyes blazing. Muscles fill my vision and for a moment I panic—

  Then my self-defense training kicks in. I step into him, grab his left hand, turn and pull him off balance, slamming my bottom into his hips and rolling him off my back. He slams into the ground. Before he recovers from the surprise, I drop a knee onto his chest, pinning him to the floor. “Yield!”

  Trey stares up at me, making no move to try to fight me off or get the upper hand, even though I know he can. His nostrils flare, like he’s breathing in my scent, and I see the flicker of silver in his eyes. His wolf is showing. After a beat, I lift off and back away.

  “Where the fuck did you learn how to do that?”

  “College,” I shrug. “I took a few classes.”

  “Good thing you went, then.” He winces right before I do.

  I stare at him, something old and deep twisting in my gut. When he first broke up with me, I’d been sure it was to make sure I went to Stanford. So I wouldn’t give up the opportunity for him.

  But then he—

  Ugh. Water under the bridge. I don’t want to think about it.

  “Sorry. I just can’t believe you—” He looks around the cage like he doesn’t know how he got here. I would offer him a hand up, but I’m not sure it’s a good idea to touch his skin. To get used to the feel of his hand in mine. The air between us crackles. “It’s like you’re a different person.”

  “Nope. Still me.” I don’t tell him that after we broke up, I examined my life. On the surface, I went to college and did everything to be the perfect she-wolf my parents raised me to be, but underneath, I was digging deep and discovering who I really was. I had Trey to thank, or blame, for the journey. He was the first wolf in my life who saw me, the real me, and loved me all the same. In the end, our relationship was a disaster, but also a gift. I had to give Trey up, but I found myself.

  “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in a novelty t-shirt.” He motions to the gym shirt crumpled on the floor. “Or that outfit last night. I would never guess you owned something like that.”

  “It’s not my everyday office wear,” I say, “But I like to have fun. You taught me that,” I add, and flush. His particular brand of fun involved us on a motorcycle or somewhere with our clothes off.

  “I don’t think Garrett ever saw you wearing that much makeup. He almost didn’t recognize you.”

  “I thought he looked surprised.”

  “Surprised? He almost shit his pants.”

  I chew the inside of my cheek.

  “Oh that’s right, you don’t swear,” Trey teases. “Someday I’m going to get you to say the ‘f’ word.”

  I roll my eyes.

  “Come on,” he wheedles. “Just once. Say it.”

  “All right, fine.” I toss my head and announce, “The ‘F’ word.”

  Trey groans. “I’m going to make you say it. “

  “Says the man who just got the wind knocked out of him on the floor.”

  “Someday. I’ll catch you off guard. I’ll make you scream it.”

  I narrow my eyes. “You will not.”

  “I will,” he promises, his eyes hooded, gaze heavy on my face. My lips tingle. “Fuck, it’ll be so hot.”

  Zing. Heat blooms between my legs at Trey’s admission. I don’t even know why he would think me saying the F word is hot, but knowing he does turns me on.

  “Dream on, moonbrain,” I reply primly, and we both burst out laughing. Trey stretches out on the mat and I lie down next to him, within arm’s distance. It feels natural.

  “Seriously, though,” he says. “Why did you learn moves like that?”

  “You really want to know? You have to promise not to freak out.” At his sharp look, I sigh. “I had a stalker.”

  “What?” His whole body jerks and I throw out a hand.

  “Relax. It’s over. I took care of it.”

  His eyes are wolf bright. “Who was he?” he growls.

  “Some dumb frat guy. Rich, privileged family. I think his mother was a judge. He was obviously used to getting his own way. He got me alone in a room one night. Upsta
irs from a party. The music was blaring, I guess so no one could hear me scream. He came at me, pushed me onto the bed.” I pause, remembering that awful night.

  “What happened?” Trey’s voice is thick, his wolf close to the surface.

  “I threw him through a window.”

  Trey blinks.

  “That which doesn’t kill you, makes you stronger,” I recite today’s words of wisdom and shrug. “I’m not a victim, Trey. I’m a she-wolf. I have to act weak, protect the pack secret, but I was under attack. And he deserved it. The way he’d set up everything, he’d probably done it to other girls. I wanted to stop him.”

  “So you threw him from an upper story window?”

  “It was only the second story,” I defend. “He only broke both legs and an arm, a couple of ribs. We were able to write it off as an accident.”

  “You threw your stalker out a window,” Trey says.

  I hope I’m not imagining the glimmer of pride in his tone. “Yep.” I raise my chin and own it. “I defenestrated him. Defenestrate means To throw out a window,” I explain while Trey looks blank. “I learned that from a Word a Day calendar.”

  “You and your calendars.” Trey shakes his head, but the corner of his mouth quirks up.

  “Now are you ready to believe me when I say I can handle some vampires?”

  He hangs his head. “I guess. I don’t like it, but...damn.”

  “What?”

  “You’ve changed. I like it. I like it. A lot.”

  “Thanks.” I want to turn away, hide how much his opinion means to me. Before I can, he raises a large hand halfway to my face, and stops. I freeze, staring down at him. After a moment, he pushes a lock of hair off my cheek and tucks it behind my ear.

  “Sheridan,” he murmurs. “Sheridan Green. Where have you been hiding?”

  Right where you left me, I want to scream. Back in Wolf Ridge, picking up the pieces of my broken heart.

  Instead of shouting, I shudder as his thumb rubs my lower lip. His touch goes right through me, tingling lower down.

  “You always were so sweet. But also wild,” his voice deepens. “At least, you were with me.”

  This is Trey! The sane part of me screams. He’s a player! He wrote the player playbook!

  The rest of me sighs as he cups the back of my neck, drawing me closer. His eyes are the blue of faraway tropical waters and my brain wants to take a vacation.

  “So naughty. And nice. And...” His lips brush my mouth and I close my eyes. “Open, open,” he whispers, and I obey, my lips seeking his, my mind dizzy and grasping his commands like a lifeline. “Yes, that’s it, sweetheart. Just like that.” He deepens the kiss, his big hand threading through my hair and angling my head where he wants it. I relax and let him take control, my whole body singing, sighing, drinking every word and touch and whisper until I’m floating.

  “Trey,” I breathe and he answers me with another small kiss. This is crazy. We’re supposed to be fighting. We were fighting and then what happened? Trey magic. He draws back and I moan a little, following him with my mouth. I’m supposed to be strong. What was I doing? I can be strong.

  I break the kiss. He doesn’t force anything more, just tips my head forward until my forehead touches his, and shakes his head slowly. We stay like that moment, breath mingling, moving in sync.

  The thick scent of my own lust hits me, and I draw back. Trey releases me, and I scramble into a sitting position, breathing hard even though we haven’t been moving. I wish I had some words of wisdom right now, but all I can think of is a variation on Give a man a fish…

  Give a player a kiss, and he owns you. Teach a player to kiss, and he locks lips with every freakin’ female in a hundred mile radius…

  I clear my throat, searching for my voice. “So are you convinced?”

  “What?” he blinks.

  “That I can take care of myself. Cause if you are, I, um, got to go.”

  He props himself up on an elbow, beautiful face still composed.

  I grab my shirt and practically run from the cage, only stopping when I’m home free.

  “I’ll see you Saturday. At the vamp club. Eight p.m. If you’re not there, I’ll wait ten minutes, and go in without you.”

  “The fuck you will,” he growls as I leave the building. But he’s not the boss of me.

  I just have to remember that.

  Chapter Seven

  Twelve Years Ago

  Trey

  I pull my beat up motorcycle around to the side exit of Wolf Ridge High and lean on one foot, waiting. Sheridan comes out alone and heads straight for me, not like she’s happy to see me, more like she’s eager to put distance between her and school.

  Her expression is closed and she doesn’t smile or kiss me before she swings a muscular thigh over the back of my bike and climbs on.

  Something’s eating her.

  I’m a quiet guy myself, so I don’t waste words on asking about it now. She’ll tell me when she’s ready.

  I hand her a helmet and wait until it’s on before I take off. I decide to skip our usual haunts—Vitale’s pizza or Wolf Ridge Cafe—and drive straight for the mountains.

  I know when I’m out of sorts, letting my wolf out heals me. Once we take the turnoff for the mountains, I gun it, letting the sensation of wind across our faces simulate a four legged run. I think that’s why young wolves love motorcycles so much. We’re physical creatures. We sense everything in our bodies, and keeping them cooped up in buildings or cars makes us tense.

  I spin all the way to the top of the first foothill and park. Sheridan climbs off and tosses her backpack on the table, then climbs up and sits on it, her feet resting on the bench. She stares out over the rocky desert terrain.

  I sit beside her and gently bump shoulders.

  “Hey.”

  “My brother died today.”

  Oh.

  I understand what she means. Today marks the anniversary of his death, not the actual day he died. Her brother, Zach, had been a rising star in the pack. Four years older than us, he’d been the football quarterback and valedictorian, had a full ride to Pepperdine. He died in a motorcycle accident the summer after his senior year. Even a shifter can’t survive getting his skull crushed.

  “You miss him?”

  Her face crumples and she draws in a hiccupy breath. “A lot. We were close, actually.”

  I weave my fingers through hers and just sit with her, listening to the birds call, the distant swish of traffic below.

  “Do you ever worry about my motorcycle?” I’ve thought of this before, but hadn’t wanted to bring it up. She never acted afraid, so I figured it wasn’t an issue. But since we’re talking about Zach, it’s worth discussing.

  “No. I actually love that you ride a bike. It reminds me of him in a good way. He used to give me rides all the time when he was still learning. He even taught me to drive it myself, against our parents’ wishes.”

  I squeeze her hand.

  “I don’t worry about you, because you’re careful. You don’t drink and drive. You wear a helmet. You take it seriously.”

  “He didn’t?”

  She shakes her head. “He thought he was invincible. No helmet, crazy driving after drinking—you get the picture.” She stands up and swivels, surprising me by straddling my waist.

  I palm her ass and yank her closer before I even think about whether it’s inappropriate considering what she’s going through. She seems to be on board, though. She twines her arms around my neck and kisses me.

  My hormones kick in immediately and my cock stiffens in the notch between her legs. I slide a hand up her t-shirt to palm her breast.

  She rocks against me. We’ve been playing this way for a while—second base mostly. Dry humping, some groping. I got close to third once—I am dying to give her pleasure with my mouth—but she got skittish and pushed me away. I totally respect that.

  “I’m ready, Trey,” she whispers in my ear.

  My head snaps up
, dick lurches painfully against my jeans.

  “I bought condoms.”

  If this was a cartoon, I’d be comically spluttering like a stunned idiot. Never in a million years did I dream she’d spring this on me. Especially on a day like this.

  I vowed never to try anything when she’d been drinking, but my girl is dead sober. And sad. And she wants me to make it better.

  I sure as hell can do that.

  “Are you sure?” It comes out as a hoarse croak.

  She leans forward and bites my neck. “Yeah. I want to live. I can’t just turn off all fun to get to the future Zach didn’t have.” She closes her eyes and shakes her head. “Does that make sense?”

  “Yeah.” I’m breathing hard, my body already springing into animal mode. I spin her around and hold my hand behind her head as I push her to her back on the table. I’m over her in a second.

  It’s my first time, but my body knows what to do. Or maybe it’s my wolf. I kiss down her neck. Nip her breast.

  She moans and arches up from the table.

  I shove her t-shirt up to her armpits and free her breasts from her hot pink bra. They’re fucking perfect. Just enough to fill my hands, youthful and firm. Her stiff nipples grow even harder when I suck on them.

  “The condoms are in my bag,” Sheridan whispers. “Outer pocket.”

  Damn. She came prepared. Or did she plan it? How long have those condoms been in there? I don’t tell her I bought a box a few months ago, too, just in case this moment ever came.

  “I’ll get them in a minute,” I murmur, and trail my tongue down her flat belly, swirling it in the indent of her belly button. The scent of her arousal tickles my nose and my body reacts like it was a kick of amphetamine.

  * * *

  Present

  Trey

  I dream about Sheridan all night, but they’re not the wet dreams of my youth. They’re fucking angsty and painful. She’s flipping me on my back and kicking my ribs over and over again, sobbing. She’s getting captured and hauled off by the nest of vampires, and there’s nothing I can do to keep her safe. Her dad catches me in bed with her and tortures my mom to punish me.