Alpha's Forbidden Mate

by Alice Cain

  I'm so convinced he's going to send me away that I jolt in surprise when John steps back and waves me into his apartment. He rolls his eyes when I hesitate, so I shake off the momentary confusion and step into John's home.

  Closing my eyes against the memories that overwhelm me now that I'm completely immersed in John's scent, I swallow several times and desperately try to pull my emotions back under control. Damn, I really hadn't been prepared to find this man again, no matter how many years I spent imagining this moment.

  "If you're looking for sympathy, you came to the wrong place," John says in a low, annoyed tone.

  I shake my head and force the words past my tightening throat. "I only came to apologize."

  "We were kids," John says dismissively. "It's done. Ancient history." He turns away and moves toward the small kitchen on the other side of the apartment. "Don't let the door hit you on the way out."

  "You think I wanted what happened?"

  "Didn't you?" John asks aggressively, turning back to stare me down. "What did you think was going to happen? Your family... Your pack"—he spits the word as if it tastes bad—"owned the entire fucking town. What did you think would happen when my father got fired from his job?"

  "I didn't know what really happened until years later," I say quietly. "All I knew was that one week we were friends and the next you were gone."

  "So you're the victim here?" John asks, narrowing his eyes even as the scent of his anger dissipates slightly.

  "I'm not blameless," I admit. I should have anticipated my father's reaction to learning I'm gay. The old alpha had never been particularly against same-sex matings, but he'd been grooming me to take over his position as alpha and had held his own son to far different standards. He'd shared his bigoted—and at the time, reasonable-sounding—philosophies often enough during my teenage years that even I'd begun to believe them for a while. It took me nearly a decade to realize just how wrong my father's attitude had been, but by then it had felt far too late.

  Again I force the emotions down, clear my throat, and try to get through what I'd come here to say. "I just wanted to apologize for everything that happened. I know we can't ever go back to those innocent moments, but I truly regret how our relationship ended."

  ~*~*~*~*~

  ** John **

  I nod slowly, swallowing back the emotions that keep threatening to choke me. It's been twenty-two years, but the way I felt about this man has never truly left me. I've always assumed the old memories were colored by youthful imagination and the fuzziness of first love, but with the man now standing in the middle of my home, I can admit that they really had been as intense and as solid as I remember.

  "We were kids," I say dismissively, trying to retain at least a little bit of dignity. The sudden urge to grab Darrick and hold on for dear life is rather embarrassing. Yes, we grew up in the same small town but we'd really only been close friends for just over a year. The temptation I'm fighting right now is fucking ridiculous. In an effort to convince myself that nothing special had happened I try to dismiss it again. "We were just friends."

  "We were more than that," Darrick says, moving a tentative step closer.

  "We were kids," I repeat unconvincingly. We'd exchanged nothing more than a few sloppy, uncoordinated kisses, but the connection we'd shared had felt far more grown up.

  "Please," Darrick says, moving a half step closer, nearly but not quite invading my personal space.

  I close my eyes, slowly exhale the breath I hadn't realized I was holding, and then I reach for the man who has haunted his dreams for way too many years.

  Chapter Three

  *** Darrick ***

  Our first kiss in two decades begins cautiously. The soft glide of lips, the gentle touch of tongues, the sweet sighs of finally coming home, but it escalates quickly. The adult need, the growing want, my instinct to belong, overwhelming everything else until I know only this moment, this touch, this man.

  John groans, the sound seemingly torn from him, his hold on me tightening as the scent of our combined arousal fills the room. It's madness. John was right. We barely knew each other. We'd been kids, but what I feel right now, the way we're reacting to each other, the needs that drive us into each other's arms simply aren't the childish stirrings I remember.

  This is something far more mature.

  I suck on the tongue invading my mouth, moaning my approval when John's large hands slide from my hips to my ass, dragging me closer, rubbing our clothing-covered erections hard against each other.

  Whimpering softly, caught in the moment, distracted by raw need, I let myself react, lessening my control, giving in to the temptation to belong to this man. My heart beats loudly in my ears, the scent of our combined arousal filling my mind, the man in front of me overruling all else.

  I want to climb John like a tree, needing to be closer. He makes a sound of surprise when I do just that, but he goes with it, spreading his hands under my ass, lifting me higher, kissing me even more wildly as he turns us around and presses me hard against the wall.

  I whimper softly, memory, reality, and imagination combining as the only man I have ever wanted thrusts against me almost violently. I'm gasping, breathless, dizzy from the scent of our combined lust, my orgasm mere moments away.

  "What the hell are we doing?" John mumbles breathlessly against my lips even as his warm, calloused hands slip past the waistband of my jeans and underwear to caress my butt cheeks hungrily. "Is this a werewolf thing? Have you cast some sort of spell on me?"

  The last question is like a bucket of ice water dumped over my head. I'm shivering as I push John away, and awkwardly trying to stand back on my own two feet. I already miss his warmth. I open my mouth to speak, only to slam it closed when the only sound that wants to come out is a low whine of distress.

  Fuck.

  I'm the alpha of my pack. I shouldn't be feeling so off balance. I shouldn't be feeling any of this. Hell, I should have been stronger than to fall into the embrace of any man. I'm supposed to be a leader. The one in charge. Incapable of making such mistakes. Infallible.

  And yes I know that at least part of that thinking is wrong and directly derived from my father's bigoted attitude.

  Rubbing a hand over my eyes and trying desperately to regain control, my words are still only a whisper when I finally manage to talk.

  "Is that—" I stop, my throat too raw. I swallow and try again. "Is that what you really think of werewolves?" Of me? I want to add, but thankfully the words don't make it past my lips. "Do you honestly think we're capable of such things?"

  John closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, lets it out slowly. "No," he finally admits. He takes a step back. "I'm..." He shakes his head. "I wasn't expecting any of... this. When I saw you at the protests..."

  He doesn't finish the sentence, merely shrugs and gives me a sad smile.

  "You're allowed to be angry at me," I say, swallowing my disappointment and trying to finish the apology I came here to make. "My father had no right to ostracize your family simply because he didn't like the relationship developing between you and me." I close my eyes, unable to watch the expression on John's face when I admit my own dismal failure. "And I should have tried to find you as soon as I discovered what he'd done." I let my father's bigotry poison my mind for far too long. "I should have challenged his position as pack alpha years before I actually did."

  "You killed your father?" John asks, sounding horrified.

  "What?" I ask, shocked that anyone would actually think that was how modern werewolf packs worked. I'm hurt by the accusation, but I'm also kind of pissed. "Of course not! Where the hell are you getting your information from?"

  John at least has the good grace to look embarrassed, and I suddenly can't believe that I'd actually forgotten where this man was earlier.

  "Don't answer that," I command, rubbing my forehead tiredly. "You can hate me as a man and as a werewolf for what happened between us, but that doesn't excuse your hatred for werewolv
es as a species. It doesn't give you the right to treat werewolves differently or to protest against changes that might help us regain the freedoms everyone else in this country takes for granted."

  I'm shaking violently and I'm so very done with the conversation. I turn toward the door and reach for the handle intending to let myself out.

  "I don't hate werewolves," John says, his voice soft but the words cutting through the anger building in my heart. I spent all day listening to the horrific and filthy threats of humans who truly and violently hate me simply because of my species. How had I forgotten for one moment that this man had been with them?

  "Then why were you at the protests?" I ask, cursing myself for the childish hope that creeps into my mind as I wait for what I pray is a reasonable explanation.

  "I'm a journalist," John says, shaking his head as he takes a tiny step closer. "I was there as an impartial witness, and I plan to write an article that describes what actually happened."

  "You weren't protesting?" I ask, my heart pounding harder with hope than it had ever done with anger. "You don't hate werewolves?"

  John slowly moves closer and touches his finger to the single tear that I'm embarrassed to realize has escaped my control.

  "I wasn't protesting, and I don't hate werewolves," John says in a deep tone. "I don't even hate you for what happened when we were kids." He takes a deep breath and steps back into my personal space. "Ricky, I never wanted to believe that you got my father fired even when it was the most obvious explanation."

  I close my eyes against the emotions that threaten to swamp me, my throat closing against any words I might try to utter. Only John has ever used that version of my name. It always made me feel as if I was precious to the boy I'd once known.

  The hug is warm and comforting, and as reassuring as the physical affection I share with my pack. It feels right to accept this embrace, to share this closeness with this man.

  It makes me vulnerable, but for the first time in years I don't care. Being vulnerable to this man doesn't make me weak. It doesn't lessen who I am or reduce my ability to be the alpha of my pack. I know that, no matter how often my father has told me otherwise.

  "Can you stay for a while?" John asks, his embrace tightening just a little before he releases me and lets me take a step back.

  I fumble my cell phone from my pocket and hold it up as a half-assed sort of explanation for leaving the man's embrace. "I um... I just need to text Hunter and let him know I'm okay."

  ~*~*~*~*~

  ** John **

  I quickly try to hide the jealousy that curls through me. I remember Hunter from high school. He'd been Darrick's best friend, always looming behind the teenager as if he was some kind of bodyguard. In light of what I now know about werewolves it is very possible that was exactly what he'd been.

  Then again I have to acknowledge that at least some of my information on werewolves is incredibly inaccurate.

  "So... um how is Hunter?" I ask, deliberately not asking the question I actually want answered.

  "He's good," Darrick says, glancing up at me before finishing his text and pressing send.

  "Good how?" I ask, silently cursing myself even as I mutter the question.

  Darrick frowns and tilts his head slightly, his confusion showing on his face. "Good," he says slowly, his eyes narrowing as he seems to search for a reason for why I'm asking. "Good as in he's still my best friend and most trusted beta."

  "Lover?" I ask, grinding my teeth, annoyed as hell for my need to know the answer to that question. How the fuck can I be jealous? We've had nothing to do with each other in twenty-two years. I have no right to the possessive Neanderthal feelings stomping through my brain.

  "Never my lover," Darrick says, smiling as he steps back into my embrace. "Just good friends."

  I try to ignore the relief that slithers through me. "Can I kiss you again?"

  Darrick smiles softly and nods.

  This time I slow things down, savoring the erotic glide of our tongues, nipping gently at Darrick's lips, sighing again at the feeling of rightness, the sensation of finally finding where we both belong. Darrick moans in contentment even as I lift his feet off the ground once more, pressing the man hard against me, and groaning in delight when he again wraps his legs around my waist and holds on tight.

  Temptation taunts me, my ridiculously hard cock demanding urgent attention, but I wrestle the need aside, concentrating instead on kissing the man in my arms.

  Darrick moans a soft sound of encouragement, his hands tightening on my shoulders as I caress his ass through the worn denim.

  "Please," Darrick whispers, the quiet plea overriding all other thoughts.

  Chapter Four

  *** Darrick ***

  As John lowers me onto the edge of the bed I shiver violently, both nerves and arousal stuttering through me. I've never done this before. I've always been the dominant partner in any relationship. I'm the pack alpha. The leader. The man in charge. I've never submitted, never surrendered my control. Not to anyone.

  But for this man, this human, I have no resistance, no will to deny.

  No strength to walk away.

  I moan into our kiss, letting John push me onto my back, exposing my throat and belly in a way that has my werewolf side writhing with a touch of fear. I control the instinct, throttling my need to escape, but I damn near melt when John whispers assurances into my skin. "It's okay," he says on a quiet exhale "I've got you."

  I close my eyes, breathe out heavily, and nod minutely. "I know," I mumble back, feeling safe and protected, cherished and loved for the first time in longer than I can remember.

  It's ridiculous. I barely know this man, hardly knew the guy when we were fifteen, but I choose to believe I'm safe here. Maybe I'm fooling myself, but a bigger part of me needs to pretend that everything is perfect, at least for a little while. Reality will find me soon enough.

  John shifts closer, pulling me further up the mattress before kissing me again, this time exploring with his tongue, the slick muscle gliding over my teeth before pushing deeper. I moan around the intrusion, my entire body thrilling with the need I have for this one man.

  Nothing I have ever felt for anyone else compares to the serenity I feel in John's arms.

  I'm not even sure how I end up naked, just that John's warm skin sliding against my own is even better than I'd ever imagined. The delicious sensation of strong masculine fingers pressing our cocks together is nearly overwhelming.

  I arch up into the touch, breathing hard as orgasm rushes toward me.

  "That's it, Ricky," John whispers. "Come for me."

  Helpless to resist the warmth of John's voice, the confidence of his touch, the care he projects, or the obedience he demands, I growl low in my throat as I climax, thick ropes of cum splattering my abdomen and chest, John's orgasm quickly following to add to the mess. Unable to deny my werewolf's need, I urge John down onto my chest, squishing the cum between us, marking my mate with my scent.

  My mate?

  I almost laugh hysterically at the realization. How had I missed that?

  John groans softly, grimacing as the cooling mess between us grows sticky. "I'm assuming this is a werewolf thing," he says with a soft laugh.

  "Yeah," I confess, desperately trying not to blush and failing miserably. "Scent is really important to werewolves."

  He nods and leans in to kiss me briefly. "Am I too heavy for you?" he asks, laughing softly a moment later as if he realizes the answer already.

  "I'm stronger than I look," I confirm with a wry smile curling my lips. "I'm sorry I never got a chance to tell you."

  "I understand why you didn't," John says, lifting away slightly so that he can roll us onto our sides. "The events of the last twenty years are a pretty good explanation for why you tried to stay hidden." He leans over and presses another soft kiss to my lips. "I'm sorry for the way things worked out."

  "So am I," I say with a soft sigh, not really wanting reality to intrude
on the bubble of peace I've found in this man's arms. I sigh and burrow deeper into my mate's embrace.

  "Do you need to check your phone?" John asks a few minutes later. "I think I heard a couple of text messages come through."

  As reluctant as I am to leave John's warm embrace, I can't ignore my pack. If history has taught us anything, it's that the hours after a protest are sometimes more dangerous than the protest itself. It's why we always pack up and head home before the police and media leave the area. It's simply too dangerous to stay.

  I grab my phone and frown as I flick through the messages Hunter has sent.

  "Problems?" John asks, sounding as concerned as I felt before reading the words.

  "Just the usual," I say, not wanting to burden my mate with too many specifics on life as a werewolf just yet.

  "The usual?" John asks, frowning as if he knows I'm trying to hide things from him. "The usual...problems?"

  I'd forgotten that my mate is a reporter and probably used to ferreting out information from reluctant sources. I have no wish to lie, so I try for as brief an explanation as possible.

  "The bus was pulled over by police on the way out of town." I shrug, trying to hide how much it annoys me to be singled out simply because we're werewolves. "It happens pretty much every time we come to protest. We expect it these days, so my pack knows to stay calm and to not react to any provocation." I type a quick message back to Hunter and place my phone beside the bed as I search for my clothes. It's past time for me to get back to reality.

  "This happens every time?" John asks, sounding bewildered.

  "Not every time," I say, trying to smile but failing spectacularly. "The police searched the bus and its occupants for weapons and drugs and when they didn't find anything they let them go home. No one got hurt this time, so we're putting this one in the win column."

  John seems alarmed by that last sentence and I silently berate myself for adding it. I know if we decide to stay in touch that I will have to explain it all to John eventually, but is it too much to ask for just a few peaceful hours away from the shit show that is life as a werewolf these days?