Filthy Alpha

by Liza Street

  Never again.

  And kissing a guy who didn’t want to kiss her? No thank you.

  Then Jase flashed her an awkward grin. His one gold eye and one green eye stared directly into hers.

  “What do you say?” he asked. “Should we give these untamed animals what they’re asking for?”

  “Sure,” she said, with more confidence than she really felt. “A little peck couldn’t hurt.”

  There were groans of disappointment.

  Jase raised an eyebrow in challenge. “Just a peck, huh?”

  Well, if he was going to tease her about it, then fine. Two could play this game.

  She reached for his face and stood on her tiptoes. He was much taller than her and had to lean down. She kissed the corner of his mouth, tasting notes of harsh, sweet liquor on his lips. When he started to pull back from the kiss, she didn’t let go of his face and pressed her lips to his again.

  A low growl came from his throat and he parted his lips. What had begun as a battle of wills, a challenge, now had transformed into something more.

  It had transformed into the kiss of her life.

  His lips were soft yet firm, and when she felt the swipe of his tongue against the parting of her lips, she opened for him.

  Distantly, she could hear catcalls and applause, but her brain and body were more focused on this man in front of her with the freaking lips of wonder. His hands were firm on her hips, and blazing hot through the jeans she wore. She could imagine him touching her skin, peeling off her clothes, pulling pleasure from her body. What kind of spell was she under?

  He lifted a hand from her hips and touched her cheek as he backed away from the kiss.

  Opening her eyes, she saw him staring at her, looking almost as stunned as she felt. The noise of the other shifters had faded to regular conversation—the catcalls had ended, they’d gone back to their food and drink. The spell, if it had even been one, was broken.

  She smirked at him and tried to keep her tone light. “How was that for just a peck?”

  His eyes narrowed, the gold and green shining in the yellow light from the lanterns. “Bedtime, mate.”

  “You don’t get to tell me what to do,” she said, putting her hands on her hips. She could remember his hands there, sure and hot.

  “Fine.” He stepped forward and breathed against her ear. Delicious chills spread over her body, but she firmly told herself they meant nothing. He went on, “I won’t tell you what to do. But I will advise you that we should probably go. After a kiss like that, they’re not going to expect us to stick around.”

  “It was just a peck,” she grumbled, but when he held out his hand for her, she took it. Turning to look over her shoulder, she said to the crowd, “Goodnight, everyone.”

  Some of them didn’t hear her, as they were involved in their own conversations, but Noah Ephraimson and Ronan Markowicz did, as well as Stetson, and they grinned broadly at her and waved.

  It struck her, as she and Jase walked away from them, that maybe she could not only survive here, but make friends.

  Now that would be weird. Misfit, awkward Blythe, who’d never fit in anywhere, could develop friendships?

  Yeah, no. She wasn’t that lucky.

  When they were out of sight of the other shifters, Blythe expected Jase to drop her hand. When he didn’t, she smiled a secret smile. She liked the feeling of his palm against hers, work-roughened, warm, strong.

  She bet it would feel great running over her body, gripping her ass.

  Whoa, where had that thought come from? That kiss had awakened something within her, and she needed to put those notions to bed as soon as possible. This was an arrangement for one simple purpose: keeping Blythe off the mean-radars of the other Junkyard shifters.

  “Do you read?” she blurted.

  Jase’s strides didn’t change and he said easily, “I can read. But when I want to relax, I make stuff, or I play my guitar.”

  “I didn’t know you could play guitar. I never learned an instrument. I guess typing is the closest thing to it. When I want to relax, I make up stories. I love stories. But guitar…I’d like to hear you play sometime.”

  “Sure thing,” he said.

  Oh jeez, she was talking too much. She tried to keep her mouth shut, but this was a danger with drinking—she got chatty.

  “Do you play any other instruments?”

  “No, I just know a few chords and I dink around with melodies.”

  “Do you sing, too? Because I don’t sing. Maybe I’m just not musical, you know?”

  “You never know,” he said.

  He sounded amused. She’d definitely been talking too much. She bit her lip and tried to be quiet.

  They reached the cabin and Jase opened the door for her. She stepped inside, wanting nothing more than to fall in bed…maybe pulling Jase on top of her as she fell.

  It was the moonshine, that’s what it was. The liquor was putting all kinds of tawdry ideas into her head.

  Thankfully, Jase didn’t need to know about a single one of them.

  The cabin was dark, but Blythe could see enough of the outlines of furniture to not run into anything. She set down her bottle of moonshine, the gift from Noah, and fell down to sit on the edge of the bed. Jase fumbled with something on the small table.

  “So, did they buy it?” she asked.

  There was a scratch of a match lighting, and Jase lit a small candle on the table. The new light spread gently through the tiny room.

  “Yeah,” he said, “I think they bought it.”

  “Good.” She exhaled and felt her shoulders relax. “How well do you know most of those guys? I mean, how long have you been here, anyway?”

  “In the Junkyard? Five years.”

  “Five—five years?”

  “I was among the first to come in, along with Ephraimson and a couple others.”

  “Wow. What was that like?” she asked.

  “A fuckin’ relief,” he said. “Some of the shifter groups didn’t even want the Junkyard—they just wanted to keep ‘putting down’ the shifters they thought couldn’t be handled.”

  Blythe sucked in a breath. Holy shit. The way he said it was casual. He didn’t even sound upset by the fact that he’d spent five years of his life in this place, or that the alternative had been death. Blythe couldn’t imagine being so, well, so blithe about it. She desperately wanted to know why he’d been thrown in here in the first place, but she had her own things she didn’t want to talk about, and she imagined he might, as well.

  “Do you mind passing me one of those pillows?” he asked, pointing to the bed.

  “Sure,” she said, grabbing one. “Why, though?”

  His mouth quirked up on one side. “Well, usually I’d sleep in my workshop. But if we’re pretending to be mates…”

  “Oh! Right.” She watched, feeling unhappy, as he found a threadbare blanket in one of the milk crates and shook it out on the floor. “You can’t sleep down there.”

  “I’ll be fine,” he said.

  “And we’re pretending to be mates indefinitely.” She looked at him to make sure this was true.

  “We are mates indefinitely,” he said. “Don’t forget, we really are mates. We both pledged.”

  He must have read the alarm in her face, because he said, “We pledged for this. We can unpledge later, or whatever.”

  She got up off the bed and pulled back the quilt and sheet to make sure it was bug-free. Thankfully, it was. The mattress wasn’t huge, just a twin. “Okay, fine. But you can’t sleep on the ground for however long we’re mates.”

  “I could—”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. You’ll sleep up here with me,” she said finally, evaluating the space available and Jase’s size, which was considerable. They could make it work.

  “I guess having our scents mix together would help with our story,” he said in a thoughtful voice.

  “Yep.” She climbed under the sheet and blanket, stretched out on her back, and pa
tted the space next to her. Closing her eyes, she said, “Come on up, big guy.”

  There was no sound, so she opened her eyes. Candlelight flickered against Jase’s face and the look in his eyes was almost tender.

  “What?” Blythe asked.

  “You just learned I’ve been in the equivalent of a prison for shapeshifters for five years, you don’t even know why, and you’re inviting me to sleep next to you, in the same bed?” He sounded incredulous.

  “Well, you’re my mate,” she said. “You won’t hurt me.”

  He took an audibly deep breath and let it out. “You have no idea what it means to me, that you trust me.”

  Not sure what to say in response to that, Blythe said nothing. She watched as Jase blew out the candle, then saw his darkened outline approach. The bed dipped as he slowly eased onto the side. His elbow knocked against hers.

  “Sorry,” they both said at the same time. Blythe laughed.

  Jase adjusted his position, likely trying to get more comfortable. Blythe remained quiet, not wanting to disturb him. She hoped she’d be able to sleep. She was comfortable enough with this stranger, which surprised her. But there was also an undercurrent of desire sparking through her body. She yearned to reach for him, to see if the heat between them would build.

  Several minutes later, he said, “You’re not asleep yet.”

  She flipped to her side, then to her back once more, hoping to convince him that it was her lack of sleepiness, and not the fact she wanted to kiss him again, that was keeping her awake. “Nope.”

  “Am I taking up too much space?” he asked. “I can always move to the floor.”

  “No! I mean, no. You’re fine.” Her face felt hot. She hadn’t meant to shout. Now she probably sounded desperate. “It just takes me a little while to fall asleep, in general.”

  “Really?” he said.

  “Yep. Ever since…well, ever since a long time ago. I didn’t always feel safe, growing up how I did.” How many times had she fallen asleep, only to be awoken because someone was trying to hurt her? She knew some foster kids had perfectly awesome foster families, but Blythe hadn’t been lucky enough to get one of those. Letting down her guard around others had never been an option. To sleep was to invite danger. But she couldn’t explain that to Jase. She did not want to talk about this. She shouldn’t have said so much.

  Thank goodness, he didn’t push her on it. He had his own secrets, and maybe that was why. It took someone with secrets to understand someone else who had them. Still, they didn’t have to talk about secrets.

  “We should probably get to know each other better, or something,” Blythe said.

  Jase rumbled a laugh, and it vibrated the bed. “It’s not like there’s going to be an inquisition.”

  “Still, it’s going to be weird when I tell everyone your middle name is Louanne.”

  Laughing again, he said, “It’s Magellan.”

  “Really?”

  “Yep.”

  “That’s very unique.”

  “My mom thought it sounded adventurous.”

  “Makes sense, he was some explorer or something, right? Was he the first guy to travel around the world?”

  “Yes and no. He organized the voyage, but he died before getting all the way around.”

  “Wow, that’s a bummer for him. Interesting, though.” Far more interesting was the way her body responded to having this man so close to her. Blythe turned sideways, accidentally brushing into him. “Sorry.” Not sorry, she added silently.

  “No problem.”

  “So, what about your family? Parents? Siblings?”

  “I have lots. We were close before I got tossed in here.”

  “Do they stay in touch?”

  “No.” He sighed softly. “It’s partly my fault, I guess. I was so damn ashamed at first, I pulled away, didn’t write back to any of them. My mom still writes sometimes, but it’s been a couple of months since I heard from her.”

  Blythe could hear the pain in his voice—it was well-hidden, but it was there—and she was overwhelmed with the need to hold him.

  “How about you?” he asked. “Any family?”

  “Nope. I grew up in the foster system, mostly. My mom tracked me down when I was older, but she just wanted money. Which I didn’t have. Our reunion was short-lived.”

  “Was that hard?” he asked.

  Blythe thought about it. “Yes and no. By the time she found me, I wasn’t disillusioned about love or family anymore. I’m sure it’s nice and all, but I wouldn’t say it’s a necessity.”

  “I disagree with you there,” Jase said.

  “Really? You just said yours—”

  “I have a new family, in a way, here in the Junkyard.”

  Blythe was skeptical. “Really.”

  “Really.” He turned on his side and faced her. In the darkness, she couldn’t really see him, but she knew he was looking at her, and the idea warmed her skin. He explained, “There’s always someone to talk to. There are some assholes, yeah, but there are more guys here who have my back than there ever were in my old pride.”

  “Pride?”

  “Group of mountain lion shifters. The name works for any group of big cat shifters.”

  “Ah.” She closed her eyes, breathed in. He smelled so damn good—clean, and like something deep and woodsy, with a little bit of spice. Sandalwood, maybe? She couldn’t be sure.

  “This family can be yours, too,” he went on.

  “Oh,” Blythe said, feeling distinctly uncomfortable. “I don’t think so.”

  “Why not?”

  She didn’t know how to explain it. She’d never had good luck. The way things had always gone, the second she got attached to this place or the people in it, it would all be ripped away from her.

  When a full minute passed and Blythe still didn’t answer him, Jase touched her arm. “It’s all right,” he said quietly. “Maybe you’ll believe me in time.”

  Blythe turned onto her back, blinking rapidly to get rid of the totally uncalled for and unwanted emotion that filled her eyes with tears.

  “Well,” Jase said, “I know they don’t seem like family yet. At any rate, I’ll be here with you tonight. You don’t have anything to worry about.”

  Blythe’s breath caught in her throat when his hand found hers and he twined their fingers together. She waited for him to try more. She pretended to be asleep, waiting to see if he would sneakily try to cop a feel. She waited for his weight to rock over her, for him to attempt to take something from her that she didn’t want to give.

  But none of that happened.

  His breath evened out, his hand relaxed around hers, and eventually, Blythe fell asleep, too.

  4

  Five years Jase had spent in the Junkyard.

  For the first time, he was in hell.

  He hurried from the cabin as if a demon were chasing him. He had to get away from that woman and her tantalizing scent and the teasing sparkle in her eyes.

  Two nights had passed sleeping next to Blythe. That first night had been mostly fine, despite the scorching kiss at the feast that had damn near caused his cock to explode. She’d smelled aroused when they’d first gotten into bed, but then something else had crept into the room with them. Fear, he thought. Or maybe sorrow. Both together? He didn’t understand it, and he wanted to. But Blythe had shut right down.

  There was time for him to figure her out. Well, there would be time—as long as he didn’t go mad with desire.

  Because last night? She hadn’t smelled anxious or sad. She’d smelled lustful. Notes of feminine arousal had permeated the tiny cabin. Instead of lying next to him, still and tense, she’d wiggled around as if trying to get comfortable for what had been damn near an hour.

  Was she messing with him on purpose? No, she couldn’t be. There was no faking the scent of lust.

  But a woman putting off those pheromones was not the same as a woman asking for sex. Arousal wasn’t the same as consent.

 
; If she’d been anyone else, he might’ve just asked if she wanted orgasms, and then if she said yes, he’d have happily delivered them to her. But she wasn’t anyone else—she was Blythe. He could already tell that she didn’t trust easily, and he’d promised that they were mates in name only. If she wanted more, she’d have to be the one to bring it up.

  So he’d fallen asleep with a raging boner. Then he’d woken up with one, too, along with Blythe’s angelic scent in his nose and her perfect little ass snuggled against his dick. It hadn’t mattered that she was fully clothed, it was still the hottest thing he’d experienced in his entire life.

  She had trusted him, that first night, not to mess with her. And she’d trusted him again last night. So no matter how good she smelled, he was just going to have to keep his hands to himself.

  The Junkyard wasn’t a prison—his jeans were.

  “Jase!” Her voice called out from the trees behind him. “Hey, wait!”

  He turned to see her rushing forward. She was wearing another shirt that could’ve worked as a dress on her. It was his shirt, at least. The first one she’d worn had been Marcus’s, which had annoyed the hell out of Jase. Maybe he and Blythe weren’t true, fated mates, but that didn’t mean he was okay with her surrounded by another man’s scent.

  So he’d quietly moved all of Marcus’s clothes to the camp trailer at the northern end of the Junkyard and replaced them with his own. His inner caveman was pleased to have his mate smelling like him.

  Her eyes were bright and matched the pine boughs of the forest. She held up a piece of bread. “You didn’t have anything to eat,” she said. “I made you some toast.”

  “Thanks,” he said, taking it. He hadn’t planned on making anything. The food delivery hadn’t come in yesterday as scheduled, and he’d wanted to make sure Blythe had plenty to eat until the next ice chests were delivered. “Did you eat?”

  “I don’t usually eat breakfast.”

  “Here.” He carefully tore the buttered toast in two and handed her the bigger half. “We might be running out of food. You don’t have to eat this now, but hang onto it for later.”

  “Running out of food?”