Falling for the Alphas: Part One (3 page)

Naomi stood there,
shaking. There was nowhere to run, and Illixy, her torment and
constant companion since birth, was right there, telling her it was
okay. She wanted to sink down on the road. Her mind quavered.
Werewolves.

Perhaps other women might
have screamed. Denied. Tried to rationalize it. But Naomi had spent
her life coming to terms with the impossible, with the glowing,
talking sphere of energy and light that had been her friend for as
long as she could remember.

"Werewolves," she
whispered.

Dylan nodded. "Children of
the Earth Mother. Though Stark... he's turned his back on the
light. He's no longer one of us. Though in truth, there are so few
of us left."

She ran both hands through
her hair. Her heart was fluttering. He was watching her so
seriously, with such a look of sadness on his face that she wanted
to comfort him. Take him in her arms and hold him tight, erase the
pain from his heart.

Slowly, hesitantly, she
walked back over. Insects were chirping from the dark trees that
lined the shoulder. She placed a hand on one of the handlebars. So
many questions. She didn't know where to begin.

Dylan's eyes bored into
her. She had never felt such a primal attraction to a man before in
her life. Chemistry, yes. This burning need to approach him, to
touch him, to feel his skin under her fingers, to kiss him, to
press the full length of her body against his hard and unyielding
frame - never.

"I'm taking you somewhere safe." His
voice was husky, as if he too felt this burning desire. His eyes
were shadowed. "Somewhere Stark can't find you."

"Why does he want to kill
me?" Casual cruelty she was used to. Snide looks from other women
who resented the confidence with which she inhabited her voluptuous
body. But outright malice? Evil? Never.

"That's... complicated.
Come. Let's get to Anna's. I'll tell you everything
there."

"Okay." She hesitated. Her heart beat
faster at the thought of getting back on the bike with him. "Shall
I...?"

"Here." He held out his
hand, and as she took it he gracefully turned her as if they were
dancing so that she fell back into the crook of his arm, and then
she was up on the bike, against his chest once more, breathing in
his smell. He smelled of cedar, the woods, clean and
intoxicating.

She looked up at his handsome face.
"My name's Naomi."

He gunned the engine of
the bike and smiled down at her. "I know." Then he held her tight,
and the bike flowed forward onto the road.

They raced along the
country roads. If Fort Brixton was behind them, then they had to be
heading toward Muskegon. But they were deep in the woods, the lanes
lonely and without homes along its length, which meant they were
driving through Manistee National Park. Curious, she held onto the
lapel of his coat, and pressed her cheek against his
shoulder.

Ten minutes later, they
turned off the asphalt lane onto a dirt road, which they followed
for five minutes till it ended in a small clearing beside a large,
wooden house. It was two stories tall, with enough space under its
roof for an attic, wide and broad and built of stout logs. The
headlight of the bike illuminated rocking chairs on the porch and
shutters pulled closed over the broad windows.

"Where are we?"

Dylan leaned back and
swung her gently the ground. She couldn't get over how strong he
was. "This is Anna's House. Anna's long gone, but her tradition of
hospitality to our kind and kin remains." He got off the bike.
"It's a safe house. Where those traveling through can spend the
night, and those of our blood can live under my pack's
protection."

"Oh." So much she didn't
know.

He took her hand as if it was the most
natural thing in the world. His palm was callused and dry, his
fingers long and firm. "Come. Let's get inside."

He led her up onto the
porch and she realized with a start that there was an old man
seated in one of the rocking chairs with a pipe in his mouth and a
shotgun between his knees.

"Jeb, this is Naomi." Dylan gave the
man a nod as they passed, and the man nodded back, eyes hidden in
the gloom of the porch.

"Dylan." Was that respect
in the old man's voice? He looked to her. "Welcome."

"Thanks." Before she could speak
further, Dylan pushed open the front door, and led her
inside.

Naomi fell in love with
Anna's House right there and then. Softly lit by turned down lamps,
she immediately saw half a dozen nooks where she would love to curl
up. Window seats, old leather armchairs, a beat up old
chaise-longue by the stone fireplace, a thick pile of cushions in a
deep alcove under the stairs. Everything was rich, lustrous wood or
faded old chocolate leather, with hanging copper pots gleaming from
an open kitchen to the left to a round dinner table to the right.
Massive rugs with deep piles were strewn across the floor, and the
walls were adorned with framed photographs of smiling people, with
faded landscape photographs and children's exuberant
drawings.

The air was still, the
kind of heavy hush that comes when a house is full of sleeping
people, and Naomi followed Dylan over to the stairs. Dylan raised a
hand to wave to a young woman seated at a small table in the
kitchen, a book before her and mug in one hand, and she raised a
hand to wave back.

Then they were padding up
the broad steps to the second floor, Illixy floating and weaving
behind them, onto the landing, down to the second door to the left,
and inside a large bedroom.

Dylan closed the door with a soft
click. "You can rest here tonight."

She looked around. A heavy
wood-framed bed covered with a gorgeous hand-made quilt. An old
fashioned hardwood dresser, a small bookcase, and a writing desk
under the window. Simple, welcoming, and smelling of
home.

She took a few steps in, and turned
back to him. "Whose room is this?"

Dylan leaned back against the door and
folded his arms over his chest. "Mine. You're welcome to it. I'll
sleep downstairs on the couch."

She almost opened her mouth to say
something foolish, to protest and invite him to stay, but blushed
furiously instead and quickly turned to the window. "What's going
to happen to me?"

She tried to keep the note
of despair from her voice, but Dylan must have heard it. She felt
him walk up behind her. He was giving off such an intense heat that
it felt like standing before an open oven door. A dangerous heat.
An undeniable intensity.

"I wish I could tell you."
His voice was soft. "I wish I could promise you things will work
out. But I don't know that."

She turned. He was right
there, only a foot away. She wanted to run her fingers through his
hair. Put her hand on his chest. He was so young, but he wore the
mantle of quiet authority and confidence of a man twice his age. A
leader, she knew. Dominant. She felt like she already knew him:
quiet, gentle, but when roused to anger, as unstoppable as a forest
fire, a flash flood, a raging storm. When roused to anger or
passion...

She blushed again. What
was wrong with her? Why was she responding to his presence so
physically?

"Naomi." The way he said her voice was
almost like a caress. His voice low, masculine. She could listen to
him all night long. "Tell me about your parents."

"My parents?" Confusion.
She pushed her fingers through her hair again - god it was a mess.
She needed a brush, a mirror, time to get herself together. "I -
they were good people. Did their best for me." She always felt
uncomfortable talking about them. A memory slipped before her mind:
her father, lips tight, driving her to the therapist after she'd
repeated what Illixy had told her about his special female friend
at work.

Dylan licked his lower lip
as he narrowed his eyes, clearly trying to find the right away to
ask the question. "They ever mention your extended
family?"

She nodded. "Most of them are out in
Ohio. Some cousins down in Tampa. Oh." She realized what he was
getting at, and felt like a fool. "I see. No, I don't know my real
family. I was adopted when I was just three."

"Adopted." He didn't sound
surprised at all. He nodded. "There's so much to tell you, but
we've so little time. You're kinfolk, Naomi. Born of our blood. One
of your parents may have been a werewolf, or a grandparent, but our
fire burns in you. Werewolves... we can't have offspring with each
other. The fire burns too brightly within us, and no child born of
two werewolf parents survives the pregnancy. But we can mate with
kin. Relatives who never changed into a wolf." He caught her wide
eyed look and laughed, "No, not like that. There are many, many
different families. We're not all related. But if we wish to have
werewolf children, we must mate with kin."

The way he spoke about
mating was so casual. It drove home just what he was - a werewolf.
She tried to act professional. "I see. So what you're saying is
that I can have werewolf children?" She couldn't believe the words
coming out of her mouth.

"More than that." He moved
forward subtly. Closed the distance between them just a fraction
more. Naomi's mouth went dry. She was suddenly, terribly aware of
their being alone in this room. Nothing between them but a few thin
layers of clothing and an inch of air. His eyes held her gaze, and
she couldn't have looked away if she wanted. "You're special,
Naomi. You have a totem-seed by your side."

"A totem-seed?" Her voice was all
dreamy, and then realization snapped in. "You mean
Illixy?"

"Illixy?" Dylan smiled
briefly, and then nodded. "Yes. He is a spirit of great potential.
Great power. Werewolf packs, they work together as one under a
totem spirit. A spiritual guide who unites us, gives us powers
beyond even our might, lets us fight the darkness on even
terms."

"Oh." She was barely
keeping up. She glanced down at his capable hands. The veins on
their backs, the long fingers. Remembered their touch. The fine
golden hairs that caught the lamplight. She raised her gaze. "That
sounds... really important." What was she even saying?

"More than you know. My
pack. The Silver Song pack. Our alpha was killed last year, and our
totem destroyed." Such pain there. An old wound, a burning grief.
She saw the distress that voicing those words brought to him, the
glimmer in his eyes, and immediately put one hand on his chest,
wanting to comfort him somehow.

"I'm so sorry." She searched for
words. Nothing seemed suitable. "And Illixy could help?"

"Yes." His voice became
husky. She imagined she could feel his heart beating through his
jacket. He shifted closer, and touched her just above the waist, a
gentle caress that sent electric sparks running down her body.
"Illixy could grow into our pack totem. Could unite the Silver Song
once more. But only if..." He trailed off. He stepped in again, and
brushed her cheek with his. The faint rasp of a day's growth of
beard. Her nipples tightened beneath the cotton of her bra, almost
aching as they brushed lightly against him. She wanted to lean into
his hard body, press herself against him.

"Only if...?" She prompted
him, mind swirling. He was magnetic. Feral, yet gentle, commanding,
yet tender. She wanted to draw out his fire, see him burn for her,
and heal his wounds all at the same time. A wounded
alpha.

"Only if the alpha of the
Silver Song takes Illixy's kin companion as his mate." His words
were whispered into her ear, his voice hoarse, and she realized he
was trembling, restraining himself. He kissed the nape of her neck,
and she felt the faint touch of his teeth as he nipped her flesh
gently. His hand slid around her waist to her back and pulled her
body flush against his. She groaned, pressed her herself against
his chest. Thoughts blew through her mind like falling
leaves.

He tilted her chin back
and kissed the hollow of her throat, the cupped her cheek with his
palm and ran his thumb over her lips. A fire was simmering in her
core, and she knew it would take very little to let it slip and set
herself completely aflame. She barely knew him, yet she wanted him
like nothing before. She ran her hands across his broad back,
tracing the curls and ridges of his muscles, and then, with every
ounce she had, took him by the shoulders and pushed him gently
back.

Dylan gazed down at her,
his golden eyes alight with desire. She took a deep breath, and
before she could speak he stepped back. Her body cried out for him,
but the rational part of her, the part that had grown up in the
city and learned to survive on the streets reined in that
impulse.

"I'm... sorry." His voice
was husky. "With the females of my pack, mating is... casual.
Joyous. Simple. I've not been with a human in a very long time." He
smiled brokenly at her.

Naomi laughed. "Yes, well.
I've not been with a human in sometime either, so don't worry about
that." Eight months was a very long time in her books.

"Naomi, you are free to
choose what you will." Earnest, he stepped forward once more and
took her hand. "But Stark won't stop hunting you. He knows how
dangerous Illixy is to him. You will never be safe in Fort Brixton
again, maybe not even the North East. If you wish it, I can help
you leave."