Reunion with Her Alpha (Paranormal Werewolf Shifter Romance)

by Joanna Wilson

  Marty’s nerves started to get the best of him as he neared the Santinni family home, but he knew this was something he had to do. He couldn’t put it off anymore. Mila deserved answers and he intended to give them to her.

  As he parked his car, he noticed that he wasn’t that early. There were a good number of cars parked up and the street. Music drifted from the backyard, and he could hear the soft rumble of voices coming from the house. He could see Mila was still well loved as she had always been.

  Coming up to the front door he rang the bell and waited. A young attractive woman answered the door and looked at him as if he was lost.

  “May I help you?”

  “Yes, is Ms. Santinni here?”

  “Mila?”

  “Um...well yes, her too, I guess. But I’m looking for her mother.”

  ***

  Carly looked at the gorgeous man at the door, something nagging at the back of her consciousness. She thought she had seen him before but couldn’t place him.

  “ Um, one second. Come on in. I’ll get her for you right now. Can I ask your name?”

  “Sure. My name is Marty.” He said reaching his hand out to shake hers.

  Carly’s eyes nearly popped out of their sockets. Marty, she thought. What the hell is he doing here? Mila’s gonna flip!

  But she managed a fake smile and shook his hand even though every fiber of her being wanted nothing better than to hit him. “I'm Carly. Nice to meet you.” This was the man that had hurt her friend. The one she knew Mila still couldn’t get out of her mind. How dare he come back, now of all times!

  “I’ll be right back. Make yourself comfortable.”

  ***

  Marty looked around him and memories came flooding back. The cream carpet, the chocolate brown couches, the artwork all over the walls. It was all the same. Nothing had changed. Well, some things have changed. Him. But that couldn't be helped.

  Mrs. Santinni came into the living room. “Marty, it's nice to see you again. I hope you're well.”

  “I am, Mrs. Santinni. Thank you for letting me come by today.”

  “Of course, Marty, of course. I'm sure you and Mila have many things to talk about.” Her eyes hardened. She still hadn't forgiven Marty, no matter what she said on the phone.

  “Thank you. Is she here?”

  “Not yet, but she’ll be here shortly.”

  “Is there somewhere I can put this?” He held up the gift bag.

  “Here.” She grabbed it from his hand. “I’ll put it on her bed.”

  Walking off in the direction of Mila’s room, Mrs. Santinni disappeared down the hall, leaving Marty to his thoughts. He watched the comings and goings of everyone that was there. The house was decorated to the tee with beautiful flower arrangements and candles everywhere. Pink and silver balloons floated all along the hallway. Mila's favorite colors.

  He still remembered the last time he saw he. She was sitting on his porch swing next door, sipping a soda, looking as beautiful as ever. Her body had started to fill out in all the right places.

  He could have kissed her right then but something held him back. What, he didn't know at the time.

  He didn’t know how long he had been sitting there until he noticed a flurry of activity and looked to his right. Carly was bringing in a cake, and a few guys carried cases of beers and ice in behind her.

  And then he saw her.

  Three years and she still took his breath away. The scent of lavender and honey wafted over, swallowing him in a great wave that let a low moan from his lips, a moan that he covered with a cough.

  She was beautiful. Even more so than he remembered. Her hair was a glossy brown cut in layers will red, blond, and black streaks. Her eyes were as green as ever. She had on a pink dress that hugged every generous curve. His mouth watered just thinking of what she looked like beneath it.

  He just wanted her to turn, to turn and see him one more time so he can take her in his arms. Please, Mila, turn around. Turn around.

  She turned and she saw. But when Marty looked into her eyes... he saw that they loathed him.

  ***

  Mila was on her way into the kitchen when the strong scent of coffee and sandalwood, tinged with a familiar yet strange scent hit her nose. Turning her head she followed the direction the trace scent had come from. The sight that greeted her eyes stopped her heart for five seconds. Then the anger came.

  “What the hell.”

  “What’s wrong baby? Are you ok?” Charles caressed her shoulder and asked.

  ***

  “What are you doing here?” Mila hissed a whisper low enough that she knew only Marty could hear her.

  “Mila...” He tried to stand but she backed away.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” This time she made sure everyone else in the room could hear her as well.

  Charles walked over to Mila and placed a hand on the small of her back. “Is there a problem Mila?” Even though the words were spoken to her, Charles' eyes were on Marty.

  She wrenched free from Charles. No! No! This can't be happening! Not now! Tears welled in her eyes and before she could stop herself, she screamed. “Get the hell out of my house. Now! And don’t you even think about coming back. Do you hear me?” She felt Charles grab her by the shoulders but she still tried to lunge at Marty, tears streaming her face. “Get out!”

  Getting up from his place on the couch, Marty walked toward Mila.

  “Mila, please. Let me explain.”

  “I don’t want to hear a word that comes out of you fucking mouth!” She struggled even as Charles held her still. Her voice stabbed at Marty like icy daggers. “Get out of my fucking house!”

  Wrenching free at last, she turned and walked out of the living room. She didn’t care that people were looking at her like she had just grew another head. She didn’t even acknowledge the look on her mother's face. She knew what it meant. Give him another chance, Mila.

  No! She wouldn’t hear it. He had left three years ago and didn’t tell her anything then, she wouldn’t listen to his shit now. Not now. Not ever.

  Turning down the hall, Mila went straight to her old room. This was just perfect. Old ghost appearing at her birthday party. Just fucking perfect. Shutting the door behind her, she collapsed and sobbed.

  ***

  The man who had held Mila back looked at Marty with a venomous gaze. His voice shook slightly. “Who the fuck are you?”

  “I was going to ask you the same question.” Marty had seen the way he touched Mila. Called her baby. A low growl started in his throat before he checked it.

  “Marty?” Juliana’s voice came from the entry to the kitchen. “Give her some time. She’ll calm down. But I think it'd be best for you to go.”

  “Yeah, get the fuck out of here.” The man said.

  Juliana looked at him in warning, but didn’t say much. He had to be as confused as everyone else here.

  Marty straightened his shirt and took a deep breath. “Tell her I said happy birthday. I’ll be back in a couple days.”

  “Like hell you will.” The man said.

  Walking up to the man who had touched Mila in such a familiar way, he spoke for his ears only. “I will be back. In the meantime, keep your fucking hands off her or you will have none. I will break every fucking finger off and stuff them down your throat. That's a promise.”

  Walking to the door, Marty struggled to contain his anger. Seeing that man put his filthy hands on Mila had almost been his undoing, but he was going to have to control himself. But he meant what he said. He would take pleasure in showing the man where those fingers ought to be. And that was nowhere near Mila.

  ***

  Mila didn’t even remember when the party ended. She did a lot of fake smiling, and had conversations with a number of people whom she didn't remember on things she could care less about. She blew candles, opened cards and gifts, yet it was all a blur to her and she was happy that it finally ended.

  She didn’t know when Char
les left, or Carly for that matter. She vaguely remembered kissing Charles on the cheek and giving him some excuse that she was tired and that she would call him.

  Every time he tried to ask her about what happened in her living room, she would change the subject or flat out ignore him. She knew she was being unfair, but she would not talk about Marty. Not now. Not ever.

  Sitting on her bed, she finished brushing her hair and was about to get in bed, when she noticed the gift bag she had set on her desk. It had been in the middle of her desk when she had come in and moved when she sat down to clamp down her anger.

  Assuming it was from her mom, she walked over and picked up. Immediately that scent of coffee and sandalwood hit her again, along with that other scent. What the hell was that smell? It was erotic and despite her being upset, she felt warmth pooling between her thighs.

  What the hell? She thought.

  Sitting back on her bed, she opened the bag. Inside was a wrapped jewelry box, a card, and what looked like a wrapped box. Opening the jewelry first, it was the most beautiful bracelet she had ever seen. A microphone, swing, phone, two stick figures, and a rose hung from it.

  Setting it down next to her she reached for the box. The scent was very strong on this box and she found herself crossing her legs at the feelings stirring between them.

  Unwrapping it, she saw the back of a picture frame. A shadow box to be more exact. Turning over, she knew then it wasn’t her mother who had given her the gift.

  There was a picture off to one side. There she was, and Marty too. They were smiling and laughing at the beach. A trip they had taken the summer when they were thirteen. He had won her a huge teddy at the pier that night.

  There were roses pressed into the box. Her favorite. She spied the movie tickets to the matinee show he took them to when she was eleven. Marty’s dad had driven them, and he bought them so much popcorn and junior mints, that she ended up sick and had to leave before the movie ended. He bought the DVD and came over to finish it with her.

  The next thing made her laugh in spite of herself. He had put her special power rock in. He had gotten the chicken pox when they were five. She wanted him to get better so they could go play, but he couldn’t leave his room. Determined to make him better, she’d searched and found a really pretty rock that sparkled and shimmered. Convinced it was magic, she gave it to him and told him it was a power rock. She said if he would sleep with it under his pillow, he would get better and come play outside again.

  The shadow box was full of mementos from her childhood with him: the page she had taken from his yearbook and written all over so no one else could write there. The picture of them on Halloween when she went as eggs and him as bacon. The black and white bowtie he wore to the winter ball that made her laugh.

  He had kept it all. Even the small square of yarn she started making into a sweater for Christmas; it still had all the knots in it since she couldn’t get the hang of the crochet needle.

  Setting the box aside she picked up the card.

  Mila,

  Words cannot say how sorry I am. I hope one day I can make you understand what I did was not meant to hurt you

  Marty

  Mila felt her anger rise again. Why? If he didn’t mean to hurt her, then why had he? He was the most important person in her life then and he just left her without a word. Why?

  Putting everything back in the bag, she went to bed with that one question on her mind. Why?

  ***

  It had been three days since he saw Mila and Marty felt no better. The chime on his cell phone went off again. New text. He picked up his phone. The message was simple and to the point.

  If you want to explain, here’s your chance. You know where to find me.

  Marty didn’t know whether to be happy or nervous. As he got ready, he felt a little of both. He had waited years to see her again, and this was his big chance to make it right. Why shouldn't he be happy?

  ***

  Charles was losing his mind since the party. He had called Mila dozens of times and all he asked about was Marty. An endless stream of questions followed. Who was he? What happened?

  Quite frankly, Mila was sick of hearing it. At this point, she began ignoring his calls.

  Carly was of the same mind. Her line of questions was slightly different. Was she going to talk to him? Did she tell Chares who he was? Did she still feel anything? Why was he back? Why? Why? Why? It was making Mila regret even telling her who Marty was in the first place.

  On some level, she could understand their concern—but for now, she just wanted to be left alone and get to the bottom of this. So Carly’s phone calls began to go unanswered as well.

  She sat back and waited. She knew he would come as she had texted him almost an hour ago. If he wanted so much to explain, she would let him. It wouldn’t change what Marty did or how she felt, but she would at least hear his side of the story; he owed her that much at least.

  As if on cue, she heard a car pull up in the driveway. It must be Marty. The doorbell rang and Mila got up to answer it. Through the screen she saw that he was dressed casual in khaki shorts and a white tee. That smell came at her again. Coffee, sandalwood, and something else. Maybe it was some new cologne fragrance. Who knew.

  “Hey.” She said.

  “Hey.” He responded.

  Letting him inside, she led the way into the living room. She didn’t offer drinks or refreshments. He wasn’t here for that.

  “So you came back to town to tell me why you left? Makes no sense to me, but I’ll give you a chance.”

  “Thank you, Mila. Really.”

  ***

  God she was beautiful. He could barely even keep his thoughts in his head with as he drank in her beauty, every moment setting his nerves on fire.

  Her voice came from a million miles away. “Well are you going to talk or are you going to just stare at me?”

  “Oh yeah, sorry.” Clearing his throat, Marty searched for where to begin. There was so much to say.

  “First, Mila, I want to tell you I’m sorry. I never meant to hurt you like I did when I left. It wasn’t my choice to go, and if I could go back I would change it. But I can’t.

  I guess I'll start with why I didn’t tell you I was leaving. The answer to that is simple: I didn’t know I was. My dad came into my room that night and simply told me to pack. He didn’t tell me why or where I was going. All he said was pack.

  “You knew my dad and how there wasn't a damn thing I could do to oppose him.” His head hung low, as if he were ashamed of what happened. “I did as I was told. When I came downstairs, there were at least twenty guys in my house loading everything we owned on to a moving truck. Nobody told me anything. My mom just told me we were leaving.

  He took a deep breath. He still remembered the anger and confusion he felt that day. “I asked my father if I could come and tell you I was leaving Mila, I swear I did, but he told me no. When I took my phone out to call you, he snatched it from my very hands and told me no one can know we're leaving right now, and you would know I was gone soon enough. I knew you would be mad and upset, but he wouldn’t let me do anything about it.”

  Mila stayed quiet as she took everything in, so he continued.

  “The men finished packing the house fast enough. We hit the road shortly after, and I still had no idea where I was going. Or why for that matter. At first I thought my parents must have done something illegal and had to leave in a rush. But I soon found out different. It took us a while but finally we made it to Toronto.” He looked up. “They took me to Canada.”

  “The first night there we stayed in a hotel, then we traveled further out west until we were in the middle of the woods. After a while we started seeing houses and buildings. It was a little town in the middle of nowhere. We drove all the way to a large estate, where I was introduced to a man named Ira and his wife Evelyn.

  “Ira and Evelyn were nice and showed me nothing but kindness. I have been there ever since. In Canada. Believe
me, I wanted to tell you all these years, I wanted to get in contact with you, to tell you but,” he paused and finally whispered. “I couldn't.”

  ***

  Mila digested it all. She didn’t want to be understanding about how he left. She had held onto her anger for too long to just let it go like that. But one thing still bothered her.

  “Why now? You could have called, wrote, emailed me, something. But all I got was silence.”