Alpha Prime: His Curvy Mate
Copyright 2016 by Georgette St. Clair
This book is intended for readers 18 and older only, due to adult content. It is a work of fiction. All characters and locations in this book are products of the imagination of the author. No shifters were harmed during the creation of this book.
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Chapter One
Creel Jenkins was having a very weird dream. He was in bed with a woman, but that wasn’t the weird part. The weird part was that he wasn’t dreaming about having sex with her; she was just lying there next to him, her soft breasts and soft tummy pressing into his back, and she smelled like heaven.
The fact that he could smell her was also pretty strange. He’d never had a sense of smell in a dream before.
She was a wolf shifter; he could scent that too. She felt perfectly right pressed into him, and he felt completely peaceful with her there, which was one way that he knew he was dreaming. Creel never felt peaceful. There was a war going on inside him, threatening to tear him apart. He woke up every day, idly wondering, is this the day I give in to my wolf? And would Douglas be able to take the gun that Creel had given him, loaded with silver bullets, and do what needed to be done?
Creel normally was an early riser, but today he decided he would sleep in just a little bit more. He lay there breathing in her sweet perfume and enjoying the rare sensation of calm.
He really must be going crazy, because he’d never had such a realistic dream before. It felt so real that he realized it must be a shockingly vivid hallucination rather than a dream. He knew there was no way there was really a woman in bed with him. He was single. He hadn’t even gone on a date in months.
Hallucinations. Was this the beginning of the end?
Well, if this was what going crazy felt like, maybe he should have tried it earlier. He lay there, actually enjoying himself, not worrying about the implications of what a final descent into madness meant for him. He’d been expecting it for a long time. He was an Alpha Prime without an Omega or a mate to absorb his dark, angry energy, and that only ended one way.
Idly, in no great hurry, he considered the situation. He was nude, of course. He always slept nude. She was wearing something that felt silky.
He heard a faint snore. She was asleep. Funny that his dream should have designed it so she was wearing clothing. And why did his dream include her snoring?
After a minute, the snoring stopped and he felt his dream woman slide out of bed. His body cried out in protest at the loss of her warmth, but he still lay there with his eyes closed, willing her to come back. It was his dream, damn it – why couldn’t he control what happened in it? The woman should be back here nuzzling him, kissing him, touching him…
But instead she walked out of the bedroom. She went into the kitchen, and he heard her opening the refrigerator. Then he heard eggs cracking. He smelled butter sizzling on the skillet. Then the tangy scent of cheese. She was making a cheese omelet for breakfast, and she’d put on coffee.
He rubbed his hands over his face, his palm running over the scars that slashed through his left eyebrow and ran down his left cheekbone.
He could hear her talking to someone in the kitchen. “Don’t worry about it, Grammy Edith, I’ll explain it to him when he wakes up.”
But he couldn’t scent anyone else, just her. What a weird dream.
And it could only last so long, of course.
His enhanced shifter hearing picked up the sound of a car rolling to a stop near the front of his house, and then the stealthy tread of four men heading his way.
His eyes flew open instinctively, and he leaped out of bed and ran into the main area of the cabin. It was open, with only a waist-high counter separating the kitchen from the living room. There was a pile of empty beer cans and several empty liquor bottles lying near the garbage can.
There were four male wolf shifters standing on his front porch, and they’d pulled the door open. The cool May air swept in. A woman was standing at the stove, stirring up a cheese omelet and looking at the doorway in alarm. She quickly pulled the frying pan off the flames and set it on another burner.
He quickly took in her appearance. She had thick, curly dark hair, light brown eyes the color of amber jewels, a round face, and broad, generous hips. She was wearing a pink button-down pajama top and matching pajama bottoms.
This was no dream after all. It was just an exceptionally weird way for his morning to begin, even considering that he lived in the wild, undeveloped territory of Greenlands.
The men crowded together in front of his doorway, looking as if they wanted to barrel in, but hesitating. As shifters, they’d be able to sense Creel’s power, and storming into an Alpha Prime’s home uninvited was an excellent way to commit suicide.
“She belongs to us!” one of them yelled, pointing at the woman.
“No I don’t,” she said defiantly, glaring at them. “I left the pack, and I belong to Creel. You’re interrupting our honeymoon, Terrence. Get out.”
“Honeymoon?” Creel echoed dumbly. He stared at her.
She gave him an indignant look. “Well yes, since we only mated last night, we are still on our honeymoon.”
“Miranda’s your mate?” Terrence said, glancing questioningly at Creel. He was a tall, hawk-faced man with a long nose and dark, narrow eyes.
“No, she’s not,” Creel said. He scowled at the woman. “Is this a practical joke? Because playing a practical joke on an Alpha Prime never ends well. This was Douglas’s idea, wasn’t it?”
“Who’s Douglas?” one of the other shifters said.
At the same time, Miranda smiled and said, “Oh Creel, you are such a joker.” Creel could hear the nervousness underlying her attempt to sound playful.
She glanced at the group of shifters. “Really, Creel Jenkins and I are mated. You need to get out now.”
“I’m pretty damn sure that I’d remember if I’d claimed a mate,” Creel snapped at her. He was starting to get really mad now, and he hated to admit to himself that part of what was making him so angry was waking up from that delicious dream, which had been the only peace he’d known in so long. And now it was all turning into either a terrible misunderstanding or somebody’s really stupid idea of a prank.
She shrugged and poured a cup of coffee.
“If he’s your mate, where’s your claiming mark?” Terrence said to her, peering at her neck.
She took a bottle of milk from the fridge and stirred some into the coffee.
“We were busy doing other things last night.”
The shifters sniffed at the air. “This whole place should smell like you been fuckin’ all night long,” one of them said. “But it doesn’t.”
“Eww, Clegg. How rude. Not that it’s any of your business, but we did it outside,” she said, flicking him a glance of annoyance.
Creel glanced around the cabin. He could not for the life of him figure out what this woman’s game was. Some Alpha Primes were rich and had hu
ge packs and lots of power and prestige. Creel, by choice, wasn’t one of those. Creel was a carpenter. He worked enough to keep him in beer and groceries. He had built his small log cabin himself. It was certainly high quality, but not something that would attract a gold-digger.
Miranda gestured at the pile of empty beer cans and liquor bottles. “I know you were really drunk last night, but you said that you were claiming me. I hope you’re not the kind of Alpha who goes back on his word.”
If he’d told her he was claiming her, he would have honored his word. But he knew that he hadn’t.
“Listen, woman, I’m an Alpha Prime, so unfortunately it takes a shitload of alcohol to even get me buzzed. I have never in my life come close to being so drunk that I lost my memory.” He glared at her. “So I don’t know what the hell you’re trying to pull here, but it’s not going to work.”
“If we didn’t mate last night, then how do I know about the little birthmark on your inner thigh?”
Momentarily speechless, he stared at her. How did she know about the birthmark? It was high up and not easy to see. This was bizarre, because he was a hundred percent sure that he had never had sex with this woman in his life. Could someone else have told her? It seemed like a strange thing to tell another woman. “Oh, yeah, I did it with an Alpha Prime named Creel six months ago, and by the way, he had a tiny brown mark on the inside of his left thigh.”
“I don’t know,” he said. “You tell me.”
Terrence interrupted her as she was about to speak. “You’re saying that Miranda Weaving of the Coldwater Pack is not your mate, and you have no claim on her, is that right?”
She looked at Creel nervously.
He shook his head. “Nope. Never met her before, your pack name is only vaguely familiar, and she’s nothing to me.” Whatever she was trying to sell, he wasn’t buying.
Her face fell, and he actually thought he saw a look of hurt flash in her eyes. Why the hell would her feelings be hurt? He’d definitely never met her before.
The shifter glared at her. “Looks like you’re outta luck.”
Creel turned his back on her and walked away, staring out the back window at the towering pines and the mountain range off in the distance, jagged blue against the light-blue sky. He’d built this cabin deep in the woods because he wanted to be alone. Needed to be alone. He didn’t need people coming in here and messing with his head and invading his space.
When he turned around and looked out the front door, there was a man on either side of her, holding her arm. They weren’t being too gentle about it, either.
Who knew why were they taking her? He didn’t know and it didn’t matter. The crazy lady wasn’t any of his business.
It was a dangerous territory here in the undeveloped center of New Hampshire, and large portions of it were entirely lawless and unpoliced. Anyone who came here knew that. There were plenty of cities scattered around the country where shifters could live nice, safe little lives. Up here, especially in the undeveloped southern region of Greenlands, it was every shifter for himself.
So why should he care where they were taking her or what they were going to do with her?
They were probably arresting her for something, or taking her to a mental institution, which was certainly where she belonged.
For some reason, though, he stood there in the doorway and watched them drag her into the car. He saw one of them smack her on the side of the head.
Oddly, he almost felt the sting on the side of his own head, and he felt a swell of rage as they drove off with her.
He walked over to the counter and glanced down at the breakfast she’d made for him, and his stomach twisted in knots.
Where were they taking her?
* * * * *
Miranda’s cousin Terrence was driving as quickly as he dared down the curvy country roads, which had a steep-drop off on the right and no protective railing.
Miranda sat in the back seat, curled up in a ball in between the two men who were taking turns punching her.
“And that’s for making us drive three hundred miles to this godforsaken hellhole,” Beauford spat, punching her ribcage.
“And that’s for thinkin’ yer too good for my cousin, you fat hosebeast,” Clegg said, slapping her head.
Clegg and Terrence were Joseph’s cousins. Joseph, an Alpha Prime, was the man Miranda had been promised to. Pack tradition said that if a female pack member reached the age of twenty-five and wasn’t mated, then the Alpha would pick a mate for her.
Not surprisingly, since everyone in the pack thought she was crazy, there had been no proposals coming Miranda’s way. Not for the daughter of a witch, who was only half shifter, who’d been a burden on the pack ever since her mother had run off and abandoned her mongrel child.
She was the weakest wolf in the pack, except for one special power. Unfortunately that special power made her attractive to certain people who were greedy. People like her distant cousin-in-law Joseph, who had paid a bride price to her Alpha and expected her to be delivered to his doorstep.
She’d fled their territory in Vermont a few months before her twenty-fifth birthday because she’d heard rumors that Joseph wanted to claim her. He already had two wives, and he was known to be brutal to them.
If only she’d had a little more time that morning, she could have explained things to Creel. Could have pleaded her case, convinced him to take her in. He was single, after all. She’d have cooked for him, cleaned for him…anything he wanted, if he’d just pretended to be her life mate so her pack would leave town. He wouldn’t even have had to pretend for long; just until they left.
Unfortunately, her pack had managed to track her down a little faster than she’d thought. Her friend Suki had called her up early that morning and warned her that they were on the way, and she’d run all the way to Creel’s in her pajamas. Not quite fast enough, apparently.
Miranda wasn’t surprised that Creel hadn’t wanted to claim her as his mate.
She’s nothing to me.
It still hurt, though.
It hurt more than the blows that these men were dealing out. But Creel had been her last chance, the only one who might have stood up against her pack. It had been worth a shot. Or had it? Creel had looked at her like everyone else did, like she was crazy, and now that she thought about it, she would rather have just let these guys drag her off without having seen that look in his eyes.
Her grandmother spoke up reassuringly from where she crouched on the floor in the back seat. “You’re smart and strong. You’ll figure out a way to get away from these assholes and rip off their ball-sacks.”
Oh, Grammy Edith. She could make a sailor blush. Under the circumstances, she couldn’t even chide her grandmother for her foul language.
“Got nothin’ to say for yourself?” Clegg said. “Usually you’re running that smart mouth of yours 24/7. I guess yer too scairt to talk now.”
Oh, what the hell.
Miranda shouldn’t say anything, of course. These men could do anything they wanted to her. They could beat her to within an inch of her life. And since she was only half wolf, she didn’t heal as quickly as most shifters did. If they broke any bones, which they probably would, it was going to be agony for weeks, especially because they were unlikely to take her to a doctor.
They were sadistic bastards, so the smart thing to do would be to keep her mouth shut, or to grovel, or to apologize. Then maybe they wouldn’t hit her quite so hard.
“Yeah, I got something to say. You hit like a bitch,” she said.
Miranda was not known for doing the smart thing.
Clegg responded by slapping her head so hard that her ears rang.
Her grandmother let out a scream of fury. The door locks began rattling, and Grammy Edith faded until she was translucent. “You cowardly bastard!” she shrieked. “I will kill you. I will flay the hide off you.”
“What the hell is that?” Clegg demanded, looking around wildly. “What’s happening to the d
oors?”
“Nothing!” Terrence yelled. “It’s just the car bouncing on these damn potholes!”
“Got anything else to say, you smart-mouth whore?” Beauford snarled.
“Yeah, you obviously haven’t brushed your teeth since the last time I saw you,” Miranda said. “What’s it been, three months?”
Beauford let out a howl of rage and rained down blows on her.
She curled up, wrapping her arms around her head, and tried not to cry out at the explosions of pain that flared with each blow.
“I should shift and scar her up but good,” he raged.
One of the few things that scarred a shifter was the bite of another shifter in animal form.
“Nah,” Clegg said regretfully. “My cousin said not to do nothin’ what wouldn’t heal.”
Unfortunately, that left room for a world of pain. Beauford and Clegg pummeled her with fists that felt like bricks, but she bit her lip and refused to cry out.
“I’m going to take a red-hot poker and jam it up his ass,” her grandmother raged.
Miranda actually smiled through puffy, swelling lips.
Grammy Edith was a certified lunatic. If only she hadn’t died before Miranda had been born, the shifters in the car would have been in deep trouble.
Chapter Two
Suddenly the car swerved violently and everyone was thrown to the left.
“What the hell?” Clegg screamed, clutching at the seat in front of him as the car skidded to a stop.
There was a sound of screeching metal and the back passenger door was ripped clear off it’s hinges.
A half wolf, half man stood there, and he was enormous. Miranda squinted up at him. The sun blazed behind his head like the fires of hell, and he was over seven feet tall.
Was it Creel? She couldn’t tell. She hadn’t seen him in wolf form in so long, and half shifted like this it was hard to say, but she thought it had to be.
The half-wolf man let out a howl of rage, grabbed Clegg, and dragged him out of the car. He lifted him into the air and hurled him down the side of the embankment. She heard a long, drawn-out scream of terror and then a thud. It was unlikely that Clegg was dead, but a drop of that distance had at least shattered many bones. He was in for a few days of agonizingly painful healing.
His Curvy Mate (Alpha Prime Book 2) Page 1