Alpha's Mate: A Steamy PNR Shifter & Fantasy Romance Collection (Hot Shifters Book 3)

by Casey Morgan

  I close the door behind me once I’m in my room. Looking over at my bed, I think about what it would be like to have a man waiting for me there. I’ve never been with anyone before. In the biblical sense, that is. There were a couple stolen moments here and there, but nothing serious, mainly just a whole lot of talking. Nothing overly passionate or romantic or bursting with lust.

  Mom and Dad did their best to make sure I never got caught up with anyone in any sense of the word. My life is fully and strictly regulated so that they always know where I am and what I am doing when I’m there.

  They really do their best to make sure I never have any kind of fun.

  But I like to think about what it would be like to have someone touch me, hold me, or actually want me sexually. How it feels to be engulfed, almost as a whole, by another person. I’ve always wanted to feel big, strong arms wrapped around my body, making me feel safe. Sometimes I dream of what it would feel like to have a man making love to me.

  I run my fingers up and down my bicep, imagining that it’s the calloused fingers of a rugged man who maybe works in a field and has come back home all sweaty. He brings his mouth to my ear, nipping at the lobe. He asks me if he should take a shower, but I don’t care. I like the idea of a whole day’s work being stuck to his big muscles. His musk clinging to his skin.

  I bite my lip, my breathing getting heavier. Leaning against the door, I pull my skirt up, touching myself over my panties. I’m already wet with the thoughts of my imaginary boyfriend. I bunch up the fabric of my skirt, holding it up by my hip.

  I continue to rub myself over the fabric, but I’m not getting enough pressure, so I slip my hand into my underwear. I slide two fingers inside of my pussy. I shudder as I push my fingers in and pull them out, my walls pulsating around my digits. I moan as I push deeper and deeper into my body.

  “Dear God,” I sigh.

  I place my thumb on my clit, making quick and dirty circles. I want to cum hard and fast, and I know this is the way to do it. My legs can barely hold me up as I feel my lower belly heat up. I tighten my fist as I cum, biting down on my bottom lip to keep myself from moaning too loudly from the pleasure. It feels so good, the warmth running down my body, the tingles running up my spine. I’m sure it would be nicer with a man here, but I take what I can get.

  I start to come down from the high, running my fingers through my hair. I let out one long breath, a smile cracking at the edges of my lips. Maybe it’s weird that, as a virgin, I’m so sex minded.

  Pastor Richards is always talking about keeping a pure body, heart, and mind. If all three are not in balance, then we will find ourselves damned for all eternity. I’m not sure how much of that I actually believe, but his sermons do have a way of striking fear into me. They have the same tinge of aggression that my parents use to discipline me.

  Chapter Two

  Anya

  As I’m catching my breath, moving my hair from my face, I feel someone trying to push my door open. I almost fall to the ground from the force, but I manage to keep myself upright.

  “Anya! Is that you? Why can’t I open the door? What’s going on in there? Open the door right now!”

  Oh, crap! My parents are home! I thought I had a little bit more time. They must have raced through the grocery store in order to get back here. I really overestimated. I just hope they didn’t hear anything weird coming from my bedroom, or else I am really in trouble.

  I get off of the door, letting go of my skirt. It doesn’t immediately go back down to my ankles, so I have to fix it myself. As I’m trying to make myself decent, my mother comes crashing into my room and catches me smoothing down my clothing.

  “Mom! Sorry, I was leaning on the door. I didn’t realize –”

  “What were you doing, Anya?”

  “Oh, um,” I blink, not sure what to say. The truth is not an option, clearly. So, I decide to lie. “I wasn’t doing anything. I was just about to lie down for a little bit while the bread dough had time to rise. I was just feeling a little tired from… all the kneading.”

  My mother narrows her eyes at me. I know my lie wasn’t a very good one, but I hope she just accepts it, so we can move on.

  “You’re lying to me, daughter. I can sense that the devil has gotten to you.”

  “Oh, no, Mom. I was just resting. I promise.” I hold up my hands, not wanting whatever is about to happen next to happen.

  She grabs my hand and drags me into the living room. I do my best to pull away, but something inside of me just feels weak. I can’t fight back.

  I’m never ever really able to fight back. It’s like my muscles only want to do the bare minimum of keeping me functioning.

  My mother throws me against the floor at my father’s feet.

  “What did she do this time?” he asks while undoing his belt. It’s like they only need the flimsiest of reasons to punish me. As if it’s what they want to do with their days, and any old excuse is enough for them to tan my hide.

  “I caught her in her bedroom, engaging in sin.”

  I brace myself for the beating I am about to receive. I can hear the buckle of my dad’s belt as he gets himself ready. It hits my back, and I wince. I keep my lips pressed together, not wanting to give them the satisfaction of me crying out.

  My dad continues to strike me with his belt, hitting me over and over with increasing ferocity while my mother calls me a whore and a jezebel and all kinds of other degrading names.

  Tears prick the edge of my eyes. I don’t know why I keep crying at things like this. They do this to me all the time, physically hurting me while insulting me. I could get over the pain on my back. Those wounds heal.

  But every time they tell me I’m worthless or a waste of space or they wished they never adopted me those nineteen years ago – those words cut deep.

  My dad stops swinging his belt on my back and puts it back on. I stay on the ground, my hands balled into fists against the floor. I can feel the welts growing on my back. I know I’ll have bruising and scars that’ll last me a long while.

  “There was no reason for you to have left the kitchen to go to your bedroom unless you were indulging in sin. Just because the bread didn’t need to be tended to, doesn’t mean that the floors couldn’t have been swept or the dishes washed. God’s eyes are always watching, Anya. Remember that. When judgment day comes, you don’t want to be turned away.”

  My parents leave me on the living room floor. I know I only have a couple of seconds before they barge back in here and ask me why I’m being lazy.

  I can’t keep living like this. Every day, I’m walking on eggshells, wondering if I’ll do something that will set them off. It’s exhausting living in constant fear.

  I have to get away from them. I have to get away from this house. If I don’t, I’m worried about what might happen to me.

  As I pick myself up from the ground, I decide that it’s time for me to run away. I am so sick of their cruelty. I’m so sick of living in constant fear. I’ve done nothing to deserve being treated this way. I don’t know where I’ll go or what I’ll do, but I’m finally going to do something for myself.

  It’s time to put myself first for once.

  ****

  I spend the rest of the day cooking and cleaning, doing whatever my parents ask of me. I am finally able to go to my room after dinner, but I don’t fall asleep. Instead, I’ve been waiting for the right time to sneak out. My parents aren’t night owls, but I have to make sure I leave late enough, so I don’t accidentally wake up Mom and Dad.

  It’s almost midnight, so I’m sure they’re asleep by now. Quietly, I go through my drawers, taking a few things that I think I’ll need. I don’t really have that much stuff. Material goods are another gateway to sin, according to my parents. They never buy me anything unless it is an absolute necessity, and all of our clothes come from the church because of the strict restrictions placed on us. If they had their way, I wouldn’t really own anything.

  I do have a few hidden
treasures that I’ve found over the years that I take with me. Of all of them, the one I love the most is a bracelet I found when I was walking outside of the church one day. It’s a simple silver chain. No one ever claimed it, so I kept it as my own. My parents would tell me that I’m engaging in secular thought by allowing myself to have something so grandiose. Like I said, I never really believed in a lot of what the church preached, so keeping the bracelet in secret never bothered me. The only worry was if my parents were to ever find it.

  I put the simple jewelry on, admiring it on my wrist. I don’t have too much time, though. Picking up my backpack, I bring the straps over my shoulders.

  I know my parents will be furious tomorrow morning when I’m not here. I’m the one who always sets up everything for them at the festival. They’re in charge of a lot of stuff for the harvest party, but ever since I could walk and carry things, they’ve used me as free labor.

  Sometimes it surprises me that I’ve managed to survive them this long.

  I’m glad I won’t be there to see their anger tomorrow. Which will be double because everyone will also be asking them questions. I wonder if they’ll lie and say I’m sick? It’s none of my concern either way.

  I sneak down the stairs to the kitchen. There’s a stash of money underneath the sink. The church has everyone in the congregation, not trusting the banks or really any government institutions. I don’t like the paranoia they stoke in everyone, but I’m not going to complain about the bowl. The money should come in handy if I happen to need anything along the way.

  I open the cabinet door and take a handful, stuffing it in my bag. I don’t take everything because, even though my parents have been absolutely horrible to me my entire life, they’re still my parents, and I don’t want to leave them with absolutely nothing. I’m not running away because I wish absolute ruin on them. I’m running away because I want more in my life.

  I put the bowl back under the sink, slowly closing the door. I tiptoe to the window but don’t immediately go to open it. I know I want to leave. I have to leave. I’ve been wanting to get away this house and my parents for years now. It's the little sliver of hope that has kept me from going totally insane.

  But actually doing it is another story. I’m so nervous. My heart is pounding in my chest. Almost like it's going to burst fun my chest into a bloody mess on the floor. Being in the moment is making everything so much scarier. What if I get lost, or someone tries to hurt me, or I just find out the world is a lot crueler?

  This is the only home I’ve ever known, and, while it sucks, it’s familiar. The unknown could be worse than this. It's totally possible. But I guess this familiarity isn’t safe for me anymore… It hasn’t ever been safe in general. The biggest thing that scares me is, if I stay, I’m worried that if I do the wrong thing a few too many times, my Dad might beat to the point of permanent damage.

  My options are limited, and this feels like the best one. It's worth the risk, right?

  I open the window and crawl out of it, closing it behind me. Stealing away in the night, I’m already frightened. Leaving at night carries a much bigger risk, but this is my only real chance to escape. My parents watch me like a hawk during the day, so nighttime is the best time to get away from this personal hell.

  I’m not missing out on my best chance.

  Chapter Three

  Raul

  There’s a full harvest moon up in the night sky tonight. It’s really quite beautiful. I look up at it from beneath the trees, some the branches obstructing my view. If I were a more artistic soul, I might have a whole slew of poetic words to say about this moment, but all I’m really getting is a small ounce of solace. The moon has always brought me comfort, even if it is so far away. It’s been one of the few constants in my tumultuous life.

  But I’m not feeling particularly great today. I mean, I don’t feel particularly great most every day, but tonight has an added layer. The harvest moon means that humans are celebrating Thanksgiving tomorrow night. I’ve never been able to get into any of the human world holidays. I’m half-human, as a werewolf, but I barely bring myself out into that world. I just don’t have any family to celebrate with, and that always seemed to be the point of those gatherings.

  I mean, it always seemed extra sad, the idea of going about it alone.

  Plus, I don’t really have much to be thankful for. My entire existence has been one long downfall. From birth, my life has been cursed. I’m a part of a pack that mates for life, and, if my life had gone according to plan, I would have probably found someone to spend my life with by now. Then there would possibly be actual happiness throughout my days.

  But we’ve never crossed paths, my fated mate and me. I don’t think we ever will. I can't even be sure she exists. A while ago, the government took us from our packs and ran all kinds of experiments on us. It was literal torture.

  They poked and prodded us, alphas, cut us up, and bled us dry. Every day, I wished for a death that never came. In the end, we were subhuman to them. Life was bleak when I was in captivity, and after the other alphas and I managed to escape, life stayed bleak. Even if I was able to find my mate, it wouldn’t matter because those experiments made most of the men sterile. So, I couldn’t even give someone a family.

  Who would want to be with a hopeless piece of shit like me?

  Basically, my life is fucked, and there’s very little chance of it getting unfucked.

  So, tonight, I’m just wandering through the woods, restless and alone like I do almost every night. I’ve been feeling extra down with myself lately. My feelings of loneliness have only been increasing, and I am beginning to think I might just die from it.

  Honestly, I’d be fine with that. I don’t really have anything to live for, so why should I care if I stop breathing? There isn’t anyone to truly mourn my passing. I'd leave the world and barely make a dent in anyone's day. A depressing thought, but, unfortunately, it’s true.

  Staying in wolf form, I lie down in a clearing I’ve wandered into. I need to get some rest. It’s always hard for me to fall asleep because of nightmares and just general anxiety, but I may as well try. I really need sleep, too. I can feel my body starting to turn on me. If I don’t get some shut-eye, I might end up collapsing one of these days.

  I guess it won’t hurt to just try.

  I situate myself in the grass, resting my head on my paws. Closing my eyes, I do my best to will myself to sleep. I try about five different positions, thinking that after years of insomnia, maybe I’m just not lying down correctly.

  I get annoyed and simply plop myself down. At this point, whatever happens, happens. I know I’ll eventually get to sleep, but it’ll just be chaotic and won’t result in a whole lot of actual rest.

  I close my eyes once again and wait.

  I’m failing at getting myself to sleep, but then my head pops up suddenly. There’s a brand-new smell. Someone I haven’t sniffed before is approaching, and it seems like they’re human.

  I hide in the grass to avoid being spotted. I’m still in my wolf form, and I don’t need them freaking out on me. If there’s anything I’ve learned in my twenty-nine years on this earth is that humans do not like wolves.

  And they really don’t like encountering us at night. Nighttime makes everything so much scarier to them.

  I lay low and wait for whoever it is to pass by. Usually, I don’t bother myself with whoever ends up where I am, but, for whatever reason, I keep my eyes up. I find myself curious tonight. I actually want to see what this person looks like, weirdly enough.

  A young woman walks into the clearing, looking around like she might be a little lost. She’s got a fairly full backpack, probably to meet up with a couple of friends for a late-night hike. The people in the nearby town really like walking around here and exploring the area.

  It’s kind of weird, though. It’s past midnight, which is a bit late to be walking around the woods. Usually, hikers come around midday and leave before sundown. But why she’s her
e isn’t any of my business. I don’t get myself involved with other people’s affairs. It’s not like she’s here to hurt me or anything.

  She finally turns my way, and I get a good look at her. Something stirs inside of me, something that I haven’t felt in a long while. It might even be something I’ve never felt before, to be honest. It’s like this strange attraction. I’ve seen beautiful women before and been attracted to them, but this is different. I don’t know how, but it’s different.

  I continue to look at her. Her curvy body that I could see myself getting lost in. Her blonde hair is up in a bun atop her head, but it’s easy to tell she has quite a lot of it. I’m sure the waves would look gorgeous tumbling down her back.

  She really is beautiful, but I think that every person I see walking by might be my mate. Every time my nose picks up the scent of someone new wandering by, I venture to hope that they have brought themselves to me. It’s pathetic. It’s all just fantasy, the useless dreams of a lonely werewolf.

  She walks away, heading deeper into the woods. I’m kind of glad she’s gone, so I don’t have to think about my mate-less life. Still, there is some desire and lust left within me, something I thought had left me a long time ago. It’s strange and weird, but I’m glad that something can still be sparked within me. I’m not just some sad man who has completely forgotten what it means to be alive.

  I shift into my human form, which is something I haven’t done in such a long time. It is like my bones are being awakened after centuries of slumber. There was never any need for me to be human, but this stirring inside of me has ignited a small fire in my belly. I haven’t touched myself in so long and prefer to do it while in human form.

  But, also, just handling it myself, the girth and length, when I’m a human is more enjoyable to me.