Alpha vs Alpha

by Channing Sheffield

  Out of desperation, I shifted anyway. Levered up and sat on my butt, legs outstretched, attempting to appear bored, showing arrogance, before he closed the gap between us and I lost a modicum of nerve. I tamped down the twinge of terror rising in my gut or he’d smell it, surely take advantage of a quavering trespasser. And I refused to roll over, baring my throat and belly omega-style. I’m stone Alpha, would be one until the moment I exhaled my dying breath, which was possibly short seconds from now.

  The bastard sat out of reach, arms draped over its knee joints, hairy fingers tipped with knife-sharp, four-inch claws clacking together. Sat on his haunches near my feet and stared into my eyes!

  What. The. Fuck.

  Up close, I noticed what little pelt covering skin revealed various shades of brown and black, from shining sable to glistening ebony, when I expected something mangy and drab. Stinking of filth. I sniffed. No gagging funk. In fact, no scent at all. How the hell did this thing manage to stifle its stench?

  Temptation stirred my sense of well-being, enticed me to stroke the shaggy mane around his neck and see if it felt as silky as it looked. I doused the asinine notion. Self-preservation was most important here. Instead, I checked him out more thoroughly. His tail was long, way longer than any wolf’s I’d ever seen, thick and luxurious-looking as the fur encasing his neck. It spiraled into a tight curl along my tormentor’s rigid back and draped over its shoulder, twitching.

  From the corner of my eye, I noticed the minions had gained a small measure of courage. They crowded closer, but not near enough for me to snatch any hostages. Were they waiting for a taste once their leader finished feeding on me? Not today. I jerked my hand up, and goddammit, the big bastard running the show reacted instantly, clamped his teeth down hard.

  “Fuck!” I barked. Palm to wrist was tethered in a gleaming white, vise-grip of fangs, accompanied by threatening rumbles rising from the bowels of hell. Yanking on my hand was not an option for me. “Jesus H. Christ! Let the fuck go!”

  I wasn’t sure if he understood English. A few rogue ferals had lost the ability to shift to human form or understand the language. My tone of voice should speak of pain and agitation.

  Generally, communal pack members communicated telepathically if within range. Lucky outsiders who were allowed to pledge allegiance to a gracious pack (the Fairchild pack wasn’t considered the most hospitable) and join the group were linked. How? No one really understood the mechanics of mental telepathy. Anyhow, I wasn’t partying with these wankers and had no desire to lick their jaws or other parts of their anatomy as canines often do—usually after kills and during full moon fuckfests.

  The big Kahuna released me. Whether by request or boredom from piercing hand flesh instead of tenderized throat meat, I didn’t give a shit. My hand was free. I stretched and massaged my aching muscles and tendons and checked for bone damage, found none.

  Blood oozed from several punctured wounds onto my thigh. If I lived, my injuries would heal quickly once I shifted. Upon death, an autopsy by the town physician would confirm some vicious, gaping-mouthed predator had taken a liking to my flavor. That is, if the search party located any flesh before scavengers fed off my remains or it putrefied and fertilized the earth. Disgusting thought so early in life. I had yet to fuck my way around the world because this shithead held me hostage.

  His gaze never leaving mine, the Were bent over, sniffed my big toe. Calf up to my knee, his bristled, snout hairs and heated breath tickled, and then he moved on to my bulky thigh. Any closer to the jewels—

  My fangs punched through my gums as blistering rage speared the one and only assailable nerve I kept hidden more often than not. I’d be damned if I let the motherfucker chomp on my meat without protest.

  He leapt up; hands and paws spread wide on the ground, evil flashing in piercing orange eyes. Lethal incisors were in my face faster than I could blink, daring me to budge, his ferocious gaze glaring. I could not, would not move at this close range.

  Nose to cold nose, my fangs receded a bit. More so when his muzzle lost its mean-looking punch and the animal licked his chops. Tension culminated into unnerving stress. I remained motionless, then I risked a glance down at my manhood in case he’d painlessly severed the helmet head in a single bite. Surprisingly, he’d licked the bloody droplets left behind, had left my skin and cock unscathed.

  I’d forgotten to breathe until air rushed out of my burning lungs. I met his level gaze with a glare. Black pupil’s spread like hot oil. Then the beast’s lengthy tail unfurled, straightened toward the ceiling, bushed out, and…quivered?

  Somewhere near the mouth of the cave, a pack member yipped. Two seconds later, a second, third, and other voices produced the choir.

  What the hell’s happening?

  My telepathic waves fell short of connecting with these dickwads and I had no idea what was going down. For all I knew they were sending out hunt invites. Why call for assistance when their monster leader controlled me? Trapped by his intense gaze. Totally immobile.

  Hesitant, I dragged in air through my nostrils when an odd sensation struck me hard, caused my brain to tilt. Even when all limbs started to relax, I forced my mind to hang in there, to stay alert. Retaliation was risky business under fragile conditions beyond my control. I dared not contract one muscle. Not yet. My good hand was slowly healing. I needed power behind the strength.

  For whatever reason, my persecutor, tail arrow-straight and still quivering, bent his elbows and flopped his ass down to the dirt.

  And morphed to true wolf body. No longer one-part human/three-parts mutated wolf, flaunting muscled pecs, rippling six-pack, and hulking thighs, he’d altered into a magnificent canine.

  Marveled by the transformation’s results, my mouth dropped open.

  Well, fuck me stupid. Look at this shit.

  I blinked rapidly then clamped my jaws shut. Exhilaration pumped through my veins, natural instincts soared. I could take this animal down. We were nearly the same size in wolf skin.

  As reality sank in and hit home, I cut through the chase and reconsidered my position.

  Shake it off, Hamilton. You have A: a wild hound prone between your knees, too close to your joystick. And B: a predator-wolf glee club singing your funeral composition. How the hell do you expect to survive a mauling by two dozen, chaotic beasts?

  They were advancing toward frenzy, for some odd reason; a frantic group yipping, marking the cave’s opening, licking faces, sniffing balls and jutting dicks. Salivating. Truth be told, I was experiencing giddiness—wired—my heart suffering an unruly beat, my cock automatically rearing up between my legs, leaking. Still, held captive for their late-night snack pissed me off.

  The Big Kahuna rose, secured my attention. I frowned. His erect tail lost its steel-rod energy. Slackened, it slithered around my ankle. Squeezed. Oh, shit. Skepticism kept me in place. This couldn’t be real! He dipped his head, kept eye contact, and one clean swipe of wet, roughened tongue swabbed the remaining blood from my thigh. I felt his tail stiffen, vibrate. Weird.

  His cold nose sniffed higher, closer, toward my pride and jewels. I jerked my leg away. He growled low. Fuck. His tail tightened and relaxed again. Fucking A. Then, long and leisurely, he lapped from tender balls up the sensitive seam of my cock to the weeping head.

  I was stunned, not by the beast’s actions, by the erotic sensation stirring my blood. My pulse pounded in my ears like the drums I’d heard during luaus and haka, the Hawaiian warrior dance. Hard. Insistent. Throbbing. My eyes rolled back, lids closed, and my temperature rose, skin warming like a steam room’s damp heat. I had to regain my equilibrium before the mind and body slid too deep into unchartered territory.

  On the next full sweep of his tongue, justifiably, I thrust my hips up, wanting to preserve contact with his rough tongue. Damned horniness had control of me. I curled my fingers into loose dirt and pebbles and sucked in a ragged breath. Jesus God.

  Don’t cave. Don’t cave, Fairchild. It’s a ruse to mak
e you drop your defenses. Remember, always strike when the opportunity arises.

  His tongue wrapped firmly around my hard cock, languidly caressing, now was perfect timing to overpower and defeat. I couldn’t possibly respond to his ministrations again.

  Wet and warm, a vacuum-like suction slid over my cockhead, continued down to the root, engulfing every inch of my rigid length. Pleasure seeped marrow-deep into my bones. I swallowed back a bitter curse. Every helpless atom to my soul had awakened to his ambush.

  Teeth delicately grazed taut skin, didn’t set off an alarm in my brain. Tranquility ruled or was he…I sank all ten fingers into silky hair, prepared to yank hard, disengage, and throw my best punch. When my eyelids flickered open to half-mast, I was neither stunned nor disgusted seeing my herders engaged in the wildest, male-only orgy I’d ever witnessed. Some had already locked together. One was stuck in walking-hump, searching, looking to connect with the next puckered opening. The mating scent must be thick as cold molasses. I smelled nothing at all, and if I wasn’t already challenged, tipping precariously over the edge into ecstasy, undoubtedly, I would willingly join the fest to satisfy the need to fuck.

  I looked down. Shiny, thick, and gracefully flowing over my hands and down his back, ebony hair—color-streaked the same as his fur—belonged to none other than a wolf shifter in human form. Mixed ethnicity with skin pigmentation darker, much more deeply bronzed than my own, blended with Were-genes. Wherever they’d come from.

  A wolf-shifter hybrid.

  Did I care? Uh…no, I thought as his head bobbed up and down to a slow, rhythmic tempo. I panted from the exquisite torture.

  “Mmm,” I heard from down below.

  Mercilessly worshipped and feeling comfortable for a change, I urged him on, kneading the base of his neck and roped muscles along broad shoulders. He was powerfully built; bulging biceps, rippled lats, trim waist, and...some sort of lengthy tattoo resembling blue fire stretched from nape to tailbone, emphasized by a prime pair of rounded globes. Buns of steel. I had plans for that ass. Great plans. Until a big hand encircled my cock, stroked and twisted while his mouth teased and tormented, sucking with an intensity I’d never felt before now. Men knew exactly what other men wanted, needed, and experienced.

  My pants grew louder, shallower. I dug my heels into the ground, shoved my hips upward in tune with his downward strokes, and hit the back of his throat. He swallowed the head, flexed his throat muscles. Oh, shit. Peaking, on the verge of erupting like an overdue geyser, I prepared to unload every gram of manufactured cum.

  Claws burst from fingers. “Oh, Christ. I’m gonna—”

  “Not.”

  The other big hand tugged the drawn-up sacs feeding my cock. The euphoric haze slowly ebbed, thinning the dense fog clouding my brain and eyesight.

  Reality set in.

  The dick-teaser had spoken while he continued teasing. Imagine that. I’d been hyper-frantic and, currently, still teetering on the cusp of oblivion. I needed relief. Satiation. Specifically, his ass.

  I would not be denied.

  I retracted my claws and said, “Get up here.” The directive was clear.

  “Not a chance.” His deep voice sounded resolute.

  Stubborn bastard. Who the devil was this cocksucker anyway?

  Shut the hell up, I told my inner predator. For Chrissake. Surely the canine inside did the unthinkable—whined—because the full moon approached and we needed a precursor fuck to tide us over.

  I latched onto my tormentor’s ears, yanked his hot mouth from my overzealous manhood, and dragged him up, face to face, to deliver instructions demanding he bend over for mounting. Standard procedure. I never stared into the eyes of a partner during sex and risk some kind of crazy, unwanted attachment. My raging hard-on required appeasement, immediately, after four weeks of self-imposed deprivation.

  Again, I would not be denied and, again, I was struck silly with awe.

  Narrowed and vivid, bright hazel eyes, swimming with emerald-green flecks and surrounded by thick, dark lashes, stared back into mine.

  Seriously? The werewolf had morphed from atrocity to striking wolf to…gorgeous? Wait. Only females deserved the gorgeous label. Arresting? Yeah. Damned arresting in my opinion. Too damned good-looking.

  Silky hair framed an oval face of strong, chiseled features: high cheekbones, arrogant nose, grooves beside perfectly sculpted, full lips. Kissable lips. I never kissed men. Fuck them, yeah. Kiss, never. The same with women. I saved my lips for her fleshy ones; the sweet spot nestled between a woman’s thighs. Or a man’s hard-on and his tight channel. On the other hand...something, not the Were-thing, about this guy needled my psyche and whining wolf, tugged me toward…

  He leaned in. I turned my face away. No way in hell would I let him plant a smooch on or allow his tongue to sweep inside my mouth or tickle my tonsils.

  Chuckling, he traced a long, slow lick from jaw to my ear and delved, sent lightning bolts of pleasure to my untamed cock, which had yet to settle down or, better yet, sleep. I must’ve let loose more atomic pheromones. The minions were in chaos. Then, a wave of pure ecstasy overloaded my senses.

  Delirious from the rousing new experience, I asked, “Name?” Wasn’t it polite etiquette to learn a person’s name before you fucked them?

  “Blade,” came the muffled reply.

  For the claws? “H-Hamm,” I groaned in response. “F-Fa…” His perfect tongue had wreaked havoc on my thought processes.

  “I know,” Blade replied and breathed hotness into my ear, triggering a squirm and itch beneath my skin’s surface like female wolves probably suffered during First Heat or when they sniffed their chosen mate for the first time. “Hamilton Fairchild,” he added.

  While his tongue slid lower, down the sensitive column of my neck, which I liked way too much, I remembered he’d said my full name when I hadn’t gotten the words past my numbed tongue. Should I care? Um…why? At some point in the very near future, at least in theory, we’d each bust a good one, finish up, and, individually, go merrily on our separate ways.

  Evidence of a violent eruption began tightening my balls again, nails sprouted into claws right along with it. I raked them down, up, and back down his wide back in moderated pressure. Otherwise, I’d score or gouge his bronzed flesh, maybe mark him. I had no intention of committing the huge no-no listed in the three-page, double-spaced, Book of Bachelorhood.

  I gripped his ass, spread his rounded butt cheeks, and heard an answering groan of approval. Oh, yeah, and I added encouragement, circling the orifice I planned to ransack. Blade’s…or maybe it was Blake...bulky thighs straddled my legs.

  Perfection hardly described the man’s chest. Wide with hard muscle and a good dose of dark hair running down to…he aligned our cocks between our bellies, leisurely rocked his hips. Fiery pre-cum punctuated by scorching friction oozed down my chest and over my abs. I wasn’t sure if the slick fluid belonged to him or me and didn’t care when he wrapped both appendages together, began jerking us off.

  “Faster,” I moaned. My body had graduated to full-blown lust. Inching down, granite rock abraded my back. When my claws flexed on his ass, a hiss escaped his kissable lips. We were on the same voyage, the same rocket-ride transporting us to Bliss Kingdom, ready to explode.

  Then the ride accelerated. To warp speed.

  And detonated.

  “Goddammit!” I roared, spraying us both with rope after thick rope of hot seed.

  When my hips bucked off the ground, those perfectly sculpted, full lips came crashing down onto mine.

  4

  It’s snowing pretty heavily,” Blade said. He stood near the cave’s opening, arms crossed over his chest, his nude body a perfect masterpiece worthy of an artist’s brush on canvass. “Blizzard straight out of the northwest. Could be bad, could zoom through here.”

  “Yeah, I can tell.” Weather could ruin my best wet dream. This shit ruined my agenda when I’d thought to about-face and hit the trails since my ego had tak
en a bad hit, making life more miserable.

  “You’re welcome to bunk with us.”

  The fuckfest over, his companions had shifted to human skin, stood at-ease like foot soldiers, hungry males after Colorado’s wildest humping party. Sexually sated men. All except for one.

  “Yeah, yeah. Sure. For what, dinner plans? Am I the main course?”

  One corner of Blade’s mouth tilted up.

  So he wanted to gloat at my expense. Motherfucker. Everyone here probably knew what had happened via telepathy, irking me to no end. Monkey…wolf sex had preoccupied our minds and bodies. Failing at rocking Blade’s world didn’t mean he hadn’t sent mine careening out of orbit. Damned if I’d spill my guts on ego-blasting info. Males were notoriously bigheaded in more than one way. Me included.

  Swaggering, Blade strolled into my personal space. Magnetic, hazel eyes again held me captive. I stayed my ground.

  “What else would you offer in exchange for food and shelter, Hamm?” he asked quietly. I stared at those perfect lips that had coerced me into an unforgettable, mind-blowing kiss.

  Huh? What was the question? I shook my head. I mean, accepting hospitality was a no-brainer. Weather, you see. Snow wasn’t the issue here, really. Neither was shelter. I was far from ecstatic about the sleeping arrangements when an army of rogues guarded me. What I wanted was to see this man tilt off his axis. I wanted to make him lose it, make him burn. By finesse. By me—the Alpha guaranteeing payback.

  “What do you want in exchange?”

  Blade huffed. “I don’t think you’re ready to hear the answer covering the question.”

  Yeah, right. Was he hinting at increasing acreage to already vast lands? Fat chance. Villere owned more property than any other pack. Was henchman Were striving for an invitation to join the nearest Council on Villere’s behalf? Following a thorough investigation of the clan’s practices, the idea was negotiable. In the long run, additional pack representatives engaged with established Councils provided better security and protection for everyone.