Ultimate Alpha Boxed Set: A BBW and Wolf Shifter collection

by Bolryder, Terry

  “I warned you!” she calls down the corridor. Then I hear her mumble, “Cocky bastard.” Werewolf hearing sometimes gives you the ability to pick up on the funniest things.

  “Have fun, stalker-fan!” I say over my shoulder. She shakes her head in frustration and walks away out of the corridor as I reply.

  I quickly go to my locker, pull on some jeans and a leather jacket, throw my things into a duffel bag, and head out the back door of the locker room.

  What did she mean, saying I’m in trouble? Lady, I could do with a little trouble right now in my life.

  Things changed drastically when Aspen came back. Aspen, the girl I was trying to win who ended up choosing my half-brother, Rafe. They moved back to be with the pack. Rafe was recognized as pack alpha, with Aspen as the female alpha of the pack. We were there for the human wedding they held.

  Aspen was radiant and beautiful. And happy. And then it was over and that left me and Lindon (the alphas she did not choose) to find a new way of living. And not a way of living without Rafe. That we were both happy to be done with. But a way of life without Aspen, or at least the hope of her. The idea of her.

  Lindon, I think, did just fine. He was always more content to be by himself, to be writing or reading or trying out some new hobby. But Aspen was more to me than even I knew. It wasn’t just a chance to be the pack’s alpha and finally have a home. It was…her. Being with her. Every smile she has now is Rafe’s. She belongs to Rafe, the true alpha.

  So I ran. Away from the mansion. Away from the memories. The emptiness. The loss of hope.

  I tried everything. Throwing myself into work like Rafe. No good. Reading every book I could get my hands on, like Lindon. Nope. Living in the wild as a werewolf for a few months. Too many memories there.

  Thankfully, there’s apparently a great need for reckless outcasts willing to punch and be punched for a living. If you know where to find it. And if you’re dumb enough…

  I’ve had a few dozen matches over the last few months doing this. I haven’t lost, but I keep a low profile, so my name still isn’t very well known yet. No trainer, no PR, no groupies, no autographs. I like it that way. I don’t do this for anyone. I only do it for one reason.

  And that reason is wearing off every minute I’m outside the ring without anything to occupy my time.

  So I head outside.

  The back entrance opens up into a dark alley, something straight out of a film where the hero rescues a damsel cornered by thugs. Everything is old red brick, and the smell of old dumpsters and wetness fills the air.

  Sorry folks, no heroes or damsels in this neighborhood tonight.

  But as if the universe heard me jinx myself, here comes trouble.

  Several sets of footsteps sound behind me, about twenty feet back. They must have followed me from the locker room right after I left. No worry, I can outrun them easily if necessary.

  I walk faster and the steps increase speed to stay in pace with me. When I’m only a stone’s throw from the end of the alley that opens up to where my car is parked, a half-dozen goonish-looking thugs turn the corner, coming in front of me and blocking my exit.

  I stop, putting my hands up as if greeting some long lost friends. “Hey guys, how y’all doing this fine evening?” I ask. “Out for a walk? Enjoying the pollution?” I could certainly use some more fighting, but I’d rather not have the police on my trail. Again.

  “You stop right there, Hawes.” A voice comes from behind the men in front of me. The men are wearing sweats and coats and jeans and leather, looking as rough as the roughest spectators in the underground arena. A few of them seem to be carrying street weapons. I see a couple pipes and a bat, even a gun. I swallow. Bouncers from the club, maybe?

  The man who told me to stop emerges from behind the others. He’s wearing an aged, deep purple suit that shines like spilled oil in the dim light of the alley. Plus a wide brimmed hat that shades his face. He stands, arms folded, legs spread, a puff of cigarette or cigar smoke wafting from under his hat.

  “Whoa, did I get hit on the head a little too hard, or is your suit just that ugly?” I ask sarcastically. No response. Tough crowd tonight.

  “You cost me and the boys a lot of money tonight winning that match. You were supposed to lose,” the leader says, scowling.

  “Sorry to bust your bubble. Maybe next time?” I say with an unapologetic shrug.

  Unaffected, he continues. “Outsiders ain’t welcome. That’s why my boys have to take you down. You’re too much a of a threat to the system we’ve built.”

  “Well, I guess that’s my cue,” I say, cracking my knuckles and readying myself to bop some heads. I won’t kill anyone, I’ll just teach them not to gang up on law abiding citizens who do nothing more wrong than win a fight.

  Then something hits my back, and a sharp, small pain erupts around it. Then another hits right below it. I look over my shoulder to see two very large tranquilizer darts fired into my back, presumably from the men who were following me in the alley.

  “Holy shit, they shot me,” I exclaim to myself, stating the obvious.

  I guess I’m the damsel tonight after all, I think, as blackness takes over.

  Chapter 4

  Rose

  Stupid. Stupid stupid stupid. Why does Hawes have to be so stupid?

  I take a few minutes to watch him disappear and then grit my teeth and decide the arrogant bastard can solve his own problems. I don’t have to care about him. Even if those deep orange eyes were even more captivating up close. But I can’t think about that now.

  With Hawes gone, I don’t have much more reason to stick around this rat hole, so I figure I’ll turn in for the night.

  I leave through the front entrance, which is nothing more than a couple of heavy metal doors with a large doorman wearing several gold chains guarding the way in and out.

  “Night, Mac,” I tell him as I walk out.

  “Take care, honey,” he responds with a smile. We’ve gotten to know each other fairly well over the last few months since I’ve been a regular attender. Mac’s a good guy, even if he’s a little rough around the edges.

  My car’s only a block away, and even though it’s a rough part of town, I’m not too worried since it’s quite late and nobody is out at this hour. However, my walk is interrupted by the sound of voices around the corner. I creep up to the corner of the building, trying to hear what I can.

  “Shouldn’t we just get rid of him now?” one voice asks.

  “No, the boss wants us to keep him here until they’ve decided what to do with him,” the other replies.

  Who are they talking about?

  “Okay, then. You watch him for a bit, I’m gonna go grab some coffee if we’re going to be here all night,” the first says. I then hear footsteps that get fainter as they walk away.

  Damnit, I may not be on duty, but I’ve got to find out who they’re talking about. I have a hunch.

  I look around the corner to see a man sitting on a chair in front of a large steel sliding door. He’s taking out a cigarette and lighting it, leaning back in his chair and trying to get comfy in his coat despite the chill of the night.

  Deciding it’s worth a little risk to get to the bottom of this fast, I turn the corner, walking casually towards the man and the door.

  He notices me when I’m about twenty feet away, and sits up to look at me. I come to a stop a few feet from him.

  “Hey, what are you doing around here?” he asks, annoyed to have been interrupted.

  “Nothing much, just trying to find the garage my car was parked in,” I reply.

  “Lady, you got the wrong place. It ain’t here.”

  “Are you sure? I could have sworn it was in this building,” I say, cocking my head and putting my finger on my chin, as if I’m actually contemplating the possibility.

  “I don’t know who you are, but you better scram,” he tells me. He tosses his cigarette and starts to stand. Catching him off guard, I kick his chair from under h
im, and he falls to the ground with a thud.

  Quick as I can, I pull a syringe out of my pocket, slip the cap off, and rush forward to jam the needle into his arm while he’s down. He looks up at me with angry, confused eyes, but I just press the plunger, and his eyes slowly close.

  Thanking my lucky stars for agency equipment, I stand up and look around to make sure no one’s watching. Dude will be asleep for a good while.

  I turn my attention to the large door, and pull it open, revealing what’s inside.

  I really hate when my hunches are right.

  Inside is a small warehouse, littered with crates, boxes, and various construction paraphernalia. In the center, hanging a few feet from the ground on a hook suspended from the ceiling, tied at his hands by thick chains, is Hawes.

  Not wanting to attract more attention, I quickly pull the door shut behind me and slide the lock into place. That’ll give us a head start if the goons find their friend on the ground. I walk toward the motionless cage fighter until I stand about ten feet away.

  He’s not dead, just out cold. I can see his chest rising and falling. That’s a relief. Clearly our sources were right that he could be in danger. I’m just glad I found him.

  I know I shouldn’t, but I can’t help enjoying the view I have right now. Not only is he sound asleep so he can’t say anything grating, but his tanned, taut body is stretched out before me.

  He’s shirtless and shoeless. A low riding pair of jeans that exposes deep ken doll lines on either side of his pelvis is the only thing on him. That and a leather strip around his neck with a single, small metallic ball in the center. As I get closer, I see that it’s a black pearl.

  Odd.

  If he was hot at thirty feet away in the ring, he’s even hotter now that I see him close up. His muscles are like something carved into a sculpture, toned and rippling. His face is beautiful, peaceful with sleep, his long lashes over his cheeks.

  I’ve never had trouble staying professional before, but right now I just have this inescapable urge to walk right up to him and run my hands over those bulging pecs, those rock hard abs. I catch myself unconsciously licking my lips, and slap my hand over my mouth.

  Stop perving, Rose.

  As if in response to my thoughts, Hawes moves slightly. He opens one eye, then two. Even in the semi-darkness, his pretty boy features are plain. A straight nose, high cheekbones, perfect lips. Sleepy almond eyes blink in confusion. Then he speaks in a confused whisper.

  “Stalker-fan? What are you doing here?” His voice is still groggy, but he sounds surprisingly alert given what he’s probably been through.

  “Stalker-fan? Is that the best answer you have?” I ask, reminded of why I dislike this guy.

  “Well, what else do I call you?” he asks.

  “How about your rescuer?” I snap back at him, angry at myself for forgetting how obnoxious he can be and for being so attracted to him.

  “Hey, I got this,” he says, shaking his head. “No need to get involved. We’re just fine here,” he tells me defiantly. He shakes at the chains, which are wrapped several times around his wrists. He looks back at me and smiles boyishly. “Don’t worry about it.”

  “Mmhmm,” I say, folding my arms.

  “No really, I got this,” he tells me unconvincingly.

  “Well, if you “got this”, then I have some late night TV to catch up on back home,” I say, making quotation marks in the air with my fingers. I turn to leave.

  “Okay, maybe I could accept a little bit of help. I mean, from a beautiful woman like yourself,” he says.

  I groan and turn around to face him. Damn he’s charming when he wants to be. And oddly sexy when chained. Maybe I’ll just leave him here a little longer so I can enjoy the view.

  “Like what you see?” he asks, with a wink.

  “Ha ha, very funny.” I look around, then spot a box. I grab it and pull it over to Hawes so I can take a look at the chains holding him.

  “By the way, what’s your name?” he asks.

  “Rose,” I reply, too preoccupied with looking at the chains to care about giving a witty answer.

  “Rose? Hm, pretty name,” he says to himself, realizing I’m only half-listening. “I think I prefer stalker-fan though.”

  I ignore him and pull a small pair of pliers out of my hoodie pocket, and with some effort, I’m able to cut one of the links in the long chain.

  “Who are you? Batman?” Hawthorne asks jokingly.

  I pull the chains holding him loose, and he comes free and drops to the floor, landing softly on his feet.

  “Just a few things for late-night breakouts. The usual,” I say, hopping off the box onto the ground.

  Hawes comes up to me and, before I even know what happens, he pulls off my hood and baseball cap and looks at me closely. For a moment he just stares at me. His eyes are beautiful, illuminated by a single hanging bulb in the room. They’re intense and intelligent, a hazel brown that glows almost orange around the pupil. After a moment, he speaks.

  “You have beautiful eyes, Rose.”

  I’m unable to muster a response, stunned by how close he is, by the sound of his voice, by the scent of his body. Clean and masculine and something…else. Something so attractive that my whole body feels drawn to him as if by a magnet.

  “Oh, and you smell great,” he says with a grin, flashing a wolfish canine that catches the light of the room, and staring into my eyes knowingly.

  Looks like the cat, er, wolf, is out of the bag.

  Chapter 5

  Hawes

  I didn’t scent her before, when she touched me. I don’t know how I missed it. But now that I can see her, smell her hair, scent her awareness of me, I’m absolutely sure.

  “Something you’re not telling me, stalker-fan?”

  “I thought we established this already. My name is Rose,” she says, turning away from me and crossing her arms defiantly.

  “We aren’t going to be the type of friends that keep secrets from each other, are we?” I ask.

  “Who said we were even friends?” Rose retorts, glaring at me. She puffs her cheeks in annoyance.

  I glance around for my shirt and shoes. Nothing. Oh well, at least I have pants.

  “We should probably get out of here regardless. We can talk on the way,” Rose says, beginning to walk toward the door.

  “Good. Because I have lots of questions,” I reply, sidling up beside her.

  “That doesn’t mean you’ll get answers,” she says with a huff. “I’m still mad at you about earlier.”

  “What did I do?” I ask, shrugging innocently. She glares. “Sure, I may not have listened to your warning, been captured, and needed a tiny bit of help escaping. But hey, no harm, no foul. Right?”

  Rose just shakes her head, but she can’t keep a small smile from forming on those perfect lips. I like this girl.

  We come to the large, iron sliding door. Rose goes to pull it open, but as she’s about to do it, I hear voices outside.

  “Wait, stop,” I say, putting my hand on Rose’s to keep her from opening it.

  “What is it?” she asks, surprised by my sudden change in tone.

  “Something I gotta take care of. Step back for one sec, would you?” I ask, motioning for her to move over and allow me to handle the door for her.

  She does so with a wary look.

  I know I look crazy sometimes, but trust me on this one, Rose.

  I can hear them speaking amongst each other. Something about what they should do with their buddy lying on the ground. Another one says they should bust in. A third agrees. I hear shuffling and then the sound of firearms being cocked.

  That’s my cue.

  I shove Rose to the side, out of view, undo the lock and fling the door open. It makes a deafening clang as it slams at the end of its track. Four men are in front of me, all now looking like they’re about to pee their pants from the shock of what just happened.

  “Evening, fellas. Isn’t it past your bedtim
es?” I ask, then pounce on them. I’ll make it fast, for their sakes. I lunge and pop the first across the cheek, sending him careening to my left. I give the next guy a hard knee in the stomach, knocking all the air out of him, and he collapses to the ground.

  The last two, now beginning to process what’s happening, pull their guns on me. I’m able to swipe the pistol out of one’s hand and I backhand him hard enough to send him a few feet flying toward my right. I hear a gunshot, and whirl with a roundhouse to catch the final thug solidly in the kisser with my foot.

  I stand in the middle of the pile of disarmed and unconscious bodies, and just enjoy the night air for a second. I can see my breath forming white puffs in the cool breeze, but I just revel in the small dose of adrenaline I get to enjoy before it bleeds off.

  Getting shot kind of ruins the high though.

  “Whoa, are you okay?” Rose rushes out from where I pushed her and runs to me. She puts her hand on my side, where a considerable amount of blood is streaming out.

  “Oh, that? Sure. Just a scratch. The bum got lucky with that shot,” I reply.

  “We should take you to a doctor,” she says with a bit of worry in her voice.

  “Nah. We both know I’ll be fine by the morning.” I give her a knowing look. Werewolves heal fast, and as an alpha I heal quicker than most. I check out my side and see a long gash where the bullet grazed me. At least I don’t have to look for an exit wound.

  Rose gives a short cough, stands straight and puts her hands in her hoodie pockets. “Well, if you’re sure you’re okay.”

  “I’m good,” I say.

  She looks around at the bodies, then back at me as if unsure what to say. Then she starts walking down the alley.

  “It didn’t hit anything vital, so yeah you’ll be fine,” she says snippily, walking at a fairly determined pace away from me.

  I catch up to her. I’m far from done with Rose tonight, even if she wants to be done with me.

  “So. Rose,” I say, drawing out her name to catch her attention. “Tell me what you know about…wolves.”