Alpha vs Alpha

by Channing Sheffield

He blushed. “I shouldn’t have—”

  “I loved every minute, every second of our mating, wouldn’t trade it for the world.” No other being would provide sexual enjoyment for me as Blade had. “Every twenty-eight days I’ll have this to look forward to. Of course, we will fuck lots before the full moon, but we’ll spend one special night completely isolated, maybe at the cave next time. Fucking each other stupid in the same, electrifying technique. You still owe me a taste of you.”

  He chuckled then his eyes widened. “Your neck is…dammit, look what I did to you.” He licked the deep wound and pressed light kisses around the edges.

  “It’ll heal.” I laced my fingers through his messy mane, styled haphazardly by none other than me. “I feel the changes taking place already.” Healing would take more than one day to complete. I didn’t mind the light-headed feeling from blood loss—like getting a buzz after one shot of booze or bottle of beer. Shifters drank alcohol, but many were unable to hold it well. I was one of them.

  “I think we’re going to stay like this for awhile longer. I’m not—”

  “Ready to quit?” I knew he wasn’t finished. The sensuous throbbing inside me was unyielding.

  Grinning around shortened incisors, Blade said, “Yeah.” He lifted me by the butt cheeks and guided me gently down his stout length, shoulders and biceps flexing, no strain on his face. Stronger than an ox…or werewolf.

  Angling my hips to his satisfaction, we watched his glistening cock slide out, prominent veins pulsing beneath the velvety flesh down to the nest of dark hair at the base. He left the head hidden then we watched it disappear inside me in an oh-so very long and slow reentry. I sucked in a quavering breath.

  “Painful?” Blade asked, concern tingeing his voice.

  I never wanted to give this up, and my cock was on the rise again. “Not at all, just good feelings.”

  “Think you can handle riding me this time?”

  Sounded like a challenge to me. Alpha versus Alpha. “Think you can handle it when I do?”

  I rode him harder than a racehorse. He plowed into me like workhorse. What began as a test of wills and obvious lust, ended in a draw. Sex with Blade was the best ever. Loving with our bodies and loving each other surpassed great—phenomenal—and would for the rest of our lives.

  9

  By two in the morning, hunger hit us with a vengeance. Food hunger. Ravenous, we devoured most of the meats and some of the veggies and fruits. The tug o’ war games we engaged in as wolves ripped the side of beef in half. We had a great time roughhousing, nipping at each other’s heels, rolling around on the bed and floor. Blade did bite my ear and shake for trying to steal his rib roast. Carnivores never changed.

  Come dawn, exhaustion prevailed. We’d curled up together on the carpet runner like young pups often do after a long day. After a long night for mature wolves.

  I came awake out of a dead sleep, missing my mate’s body heat. I rolled over, cracked open one eye. Seeing no one, I immediately shifted to human form.

  “What the hell?”

  Where the devil was he now? I peeked under the bed. Not there.

  Goddammit, mates always woke together after the honeymoon, according to my brother. I stood, cracked my neck, and rolled my shoulders, readying for a fight. In fact, hearing water running (damned if he’d take a shower without me), I planned to drag Blade’s ass back to our carpet nest by the scruff.

  I marched into the frigging day spa painted and accented with various shades of blue coordinating with the floor. Heat from warm, slate tiles penetrated my bare feet. The guest bath would fit inside this one and still offer plenty of excess space.

  Lounging in the sloped, sunken tub surely designed for a party of ten and planted in the center of the room—with two, re-circulating waterfalls running—Blade grinned.

  “What the hell are doing?” I snapped, even when his sparkling eyes and broad smile caused my cock to rise to attention. Just being near Blade made me want him more. “You’re supposed to be in bed with me, not jacking around doing this shit like some goddamn sheik!”

  He lost the smile, showed fangs. “Don’t get snippy with me first thing in the morning. Do you always wake up bitching?” he asked. “No? Then don’t start now. As you can see, I’m soaking. I’ve also been waiting for my lazy mate to rise from his damn beauty rest and join me.”

  Mate. Acknowledgement, which brought a smile to my face. “Oh. Okay.” I started to step down into the bubbling Jacuzzi.

  “Hold it right there, Fairchild. Shower first. You have blood and meat stuck to your mustache, beard, and hair. Not for my bath. There’s a new toothbrush and plenty of soap. We both stank of sex.” Yes, we did. “In any case, you still do. Be that as it may, I can see you’re ready for another round. I’m not. Got a headache.”

  “A what?” Fuck that. Nick had warned me and, like an idiot, I’d laughed. “Take an aspirin and get over it. No mate of mine is going to lie and cry headache with me.”

  How many sighs can a person emit? “Wrong kind of headache, Hamm. The tub’s full of Epsom salts. Long night of good loving.”

  Five minutes later, I sank into warm, bubbling water. Blade motioned me to sit between his bulky thighs. After a quick kiss of gratitude, I got comfortable, leaned back, rubbed against his black, chest hairs, relaxing.

  Blade pressed his clean-shaven jaw against mine. I’d taken time to shave the stubble and trim the Fu Manchu. Like a soothing caress, he ran the terrycloth towel over my upper body. “The wound is almost healed,” he said. “My saliva’s pretty potent.”

  “Hmm.” I felt no pain or soreness other than the strain my cock would love to endure again. Later. I had a gazillion questions saturating my brain about his family members, where he grew up, his age... “Where’re your mother and father? Are they still alive?”

  The question must’ve given him pause. I felt his muscles flex.

  “Dead.”

  That’s it? Dead? “What happened? How old were you at the time of their demise? Did they die at the same time? Was it an accident?” I couldn’t imagine losing my parents.

  Again his muscles constricted, but this time they did not relax. “No, not at the same time,” Blade replied. “And not by accident or natural causes.”

  Christ. Murder.

  “One was murder. My father. My mother died shortly after giving birth. Word has it, mothers typically, um, bleed to death,” Blade said quietly and he swallowed. “Unlike normal wolf shifters, Weres are born Were first, always on the night of the full moon, and would prefer to, uh, get out of jail early, so to speak. Clawing.”

  I got the meaning when his talons lengthened. Good Christ. What a painful death. “And your father, what happened to him?”

  He huffed out a breath. “This is difficult for me, Hamm. I’ve never told anyone the story. Give me a minute.”

  “Sure.” It damn sure couldn’t be any worse than how his mother died.

  Blade ran the cloth over my skin for a good two minutes. Finally, he said, “I’ll do my best. The details might sound a little convoluted at times, or out of sequence.

  “Weres are able to ‘hear’ during the second trimester of pregnancy. Our brains develop quickly and we have a very deep emotional connection with one person. Our mother. Despite that, we’re voiceless until we turn a year old. We can ‘see’ moments before birth, the main reason for a hasty exit. Darkness, tight quarters, and the scent of blood was reason enough to escape. I didn’t want to hurt her more than I would by—”

  He inhaled deeply, held it, then let the air out in a long whoosh.

  “My father was there when I was born. He had reason to be afraid, Hamm. Anyone would be, seeing a genuine monster emerge from between a woman’s legs. He shrieked and cursed. I remembered his voice. So focused on him, I watched every move he made and crawled…stalked the crazy bastard while he let my mother bleed, not giving one ounce of his damn comfort even when she cried out. I’d listened to and understood his tirades for almost five mo
nths while inside her womb, felt the pain—physically and emotionally—he’d caused my mother, the one person I knew would love me no matter what. I was her child. It was all that mattered to her.”

  For the love of…Blade had no one to love and protect him. How did he survive with an uncaring father?

  “Lucky for him, hunger won out. My father lured me into a silver-reinforced animal cage using morsels of red meat. No water, my name printed in charcoal on paper and attached to the cage, and dawn hours away on a bitter cold, rainy night—left me naked, wet, and bloodied. He cursed me, spit on me, ranting and raving about my being the devil’s spawn and calling my mother a filthy whore. Whore,” Blade said again, his voice saturated with animosity. “It was the only name I knew her by, the only name he called her. He, Jonah, took her virginity at the tender age of seventeen. He was the only man who had ever bedded her, she’d often said. His image and blasphemous rhetoric are still ingrained in my mind after all these years.” He dragged in a shuddering breath.

  Oh, fuck. No doubt this was turning into a horror story I was sure I didn’t want to hear. “Go on.”

  “Jonah’s scent had stayed with me for…I searched for him and when I found my father, I had to remind him of who I was. He didn’t believe me until my claws and fangs slowly emerged. Smelling his fear, seeing him sweat on a bitter cold night was my aphrodisiac.

  “While I stalked his every step, I reminded him of the how he’d treated my mother, reminded him of the pain she’d suffered, reminded him that he’d left her to die. Left her to die alone. Then, I killed him, Hamm. I tore him apart, piece by filthy piece, the same night I escaped from the facility where he worked, an institution erected for the criminally insane. I killed that man for vilifying and torturing my mother. I killed him for cursing me, spitting on me, and leaving me to suffer in a filthy prison, a disgusting place where quacks disguised as scientists and doctors and, like Jonah, attendants poked, probed, and prodded—shamed me—during my entire young life. Eighteen years my revulsion marinated. Eighteen damn years I waited to put the son of a bitch down like the repulsive animal he was.”

  I understood. Be it callous or vindictive, in defense of my mate, I absolutely supported his hatred of his father and his revenge.

  Right now, naturally, anger and rage had re-percolated, boiled over again. Blade’s claws had not retracted. Ten sharp talons speared my skin. His words sounded thick, I’m sure, from fangs impeding his articulation. Tufts of fur had sprouted along his arms and legs. His hot breath fanned through my hair as his chest rose and fell.

  “Calm down, babe,” I said, stroking his furry arm. “He’s out of your life for good.”

  He grunted. Or it could’ve been another sinister growl.

  I waited several minutes before asking my next question, waited until Blade regained his composure and fully returned to human form while I kneaded the hard muscles of his thighs.

  “Tell me about the Were population. Tell me about how you became one.” He stilled and, for the next a minute, I thought he’d fallen asleep. “Blade?”

  “Can we save this conversation for another day?”

  I shook my head. “No way. We’re mates. I want to know everything about you. Now. From the beginning.” I left no room for negotiation and put his hands in motion again.

  The man sighed more—and longer—than anyone I knew.

  “No one really knows when the first werewolf…became. Legend has it, werewolves are descendants of a powerful mage who had taken a wolf shifter as his lover.”

  “Mage? As in magician?” I’d heard rumors about magi and witches and fae. I hadn’t encountered one...I don't think...so why believe they were real? Then again, why wouldn’t those beings walk the Earth? The planet was full of shifters and vampires. And humans.

  “Sort of.”

  “I’ll keep the thought in mind until later.” Seems magic might’ve be in the air after all. “Okay, go on.”

  “The mage, Szhigan, a fellow of Russian/Hungarian ancestry, fell hopelessly in love with an African princess he met during his travels. Her name has been lost over the centuries, but some believed it sounded similar to ‘Caviar’ in English-speak. Breathtakingly beautiful, to Szhigan, she could do no wrong. Thinking logically, he used magic to keep them both young and to keep other males at a distance. As time went by, his fixation blossomed into obsession. Szhigan’s mind began to weaken, deteriorating from casting spells and holding them in place. Then one day, he caught his lover with another wolf shifter.”

  Yup. The jealousy thing shaped and fit for hand-to-hand battle. War, by every male standard.

  “Not war. An ancient, he was too weak for combat.”

  “You mean to tell me he didn’t kill the son of a bitch for messing with his mate?” Hell, I would have, would’ve climbed out of my dying bed and crawled to get to the bastard.

  “Actually, she fell into the arms of her chosen mate, an undeniable connection no mage could alter or destroy. Destiny bound her to the shifter despite Szhigan’s magic.

  “And fistfights, Hamm, were unnecessary for Szhigan. He cast a spell, but not a killing one. Her lover met his premature demise with a hyena pack the mage had in his hip pocket. Apparently, whatever remains were left, the mage set ablaze. His name is a shortened form derived from ‘fire’ in some languages. He’d thought to have his lover burned at the stake if she wasn’t pregnant. She played on his emotions; lied to save her skin and her pups; blamed the lover, saying he’d poison Szhigan if she refused his advances. Word has it, she used the magic Szhigan had bestowed on her to sway him,” Blade went on. “Conniving? Probably. Self preservation runs strong in us all. Personally, I think Szighan was pussywhipped.”

  His chuckle rumbled through his chest as his talented fingers awakened my nipples, sending multiple shocks of electricity to my cock, which jerked underwater. Curbing the lust assailing my nerves, I geared up to hear the rest of the story before I bent him over the tub’s edge for a morning reunion.

  “The mage had no clue if his lover carried his descendants or his foe’s pups. As it turned out, half of the litter belonged to Szhigan.”

  “Did he die not knowing?”

  “Yes. Beforehand, though, he cast a spell on all descendants of his to prove his power.”

  “Why not cast a spell on the mate who screwed his old lady? On his decendants? Turn them all into three-legged, toothless hounds or deranged lapdogs boasting big fangs?”

  Blade laughed. Hell, I wasn’t kidding. “He was a lunatic, so legend says.”

  “And the spell?” I thought about it, had an “aah” moment. Werewolves.

  “Precisely. On the other hand, given his weaknesses, not all of his descendants throughout time became werewolves. Very sporadic. For years, I’ve had teams of doctors at VRC testing cures. At best, they’ve isolated a recessive gene. One of the problems is there are probably very few of us. Two are here.”

  “You and Walker.”

  “Yes. He’s my brother.”

  Another “aah” moment smacked the back of my head. Saba had said they thought Blade and Walker might mate. Incest. Gag. Luckily, the two of them had no interest in sharing passion.

  “No one knows besides you, me, and a handful of hospital personnel, Hamm. Not even Walker. I’d like to keep it quiet for now.” When I spun around, frowning, he planted a kiss on my forehead, urged me back into place, and continued. “No, we don’t share surnames. I selected mine. Walker chose the single name and only the one. Nearly all of his memories before coming to VRC are nonexistent. If word gets out…he’s vulnerable, still somewhat unstable.”

  Vulnerable to what? Was it any of my business? “Not a problem. Are there other sibs?”

  I felt his shrug behind me. Blade said, “Don’t know for sure. The possibility is there. I wasn’t around when Walker was born. I can hardly assume Jonah returned to my mother after dropping me off, but if he did and found Walker, he’d have rid himself of the devil’s second son. The facility kept me isolate
d.”

  Considering the average number of pups per litter, chances were damn good Blade’s sibs were roaming the streets or countryside somewhere around the world. “How did you find Walker?”

  “Strictly by chance. Raleigh mentioned New Orleans to you.” I nodded. “We, you and I, own a winter home outside the city.”

  I wouldn’t be surprised if Blade owned more than two homes. The rich enjoyed purchasing real estate for some reason. Me, a roof over my head and flooring protecting my hide was sufficient.

  “Raleigh found Walker in the woods not far from the villa. We brought him back to Colorado, tested his blood, and happened upon the answers. Same recessive gene, DNA conclusive to our parentage.”

  “So what now? Are you—”

  “There’s more,” Blade said. He wrung out the hand towel, set it aside, and began kneading my shoulders and neck better than a professional masseuse’s magical fingers. I moaned in pleasure-pain, instantly relaxed. “The mage overlooked one major issue when casting the final spell.”

  “An issue?” What could be more of a major issue than creating feral werewolves, putting your very own descendants through hell?

  “Yes,” he replied, combing his fingers through my hair. “We’re part mage. Walker and I—and I assume our aunts, uncles, and so forth—inherited...a little magic.”

  Shit. I knew it, and I sat up, spun around, a small tidal wave sloshing around the tub. “How much is a little? What kind of magic do you flaunt besides making clothes disappear and reappear?”

  “It varies. I’m also capable of cloaking scents and mind manipulation to a certain degree, and likely a few other oddities I’ve never thought to try. Talents are totally different between Walker and me. He’s not able to uncloak his scent or scent others, which is why I was clueless about him and vice versa. I never cloaked my scent while in Louisiana, hoping to reunite with a relative, hoping they might be out there. No such luck. Until Walker. He’s mastered teleporting now. Unfortunately, there’re some nasty aftereffects. Short term memory loss and schizophrenia to name a couple.”