Alpha Mate: BBW Paranormal Shifter Romance (10 page)

Lucas scrubbed a hand over his face. How to explain all
this to her without freaking her out? As it was, she was already
seething with resentment and revulsion at her own raging desire for
him, which he knew would only escalate and become more intense and
uncontrollable as the moon inched towards its peak.

Lucas cleared his throat.

She stopped pacing and frowned at him. “What?
Are you going to tell me to take off all my clothes again?”
She scowled but he caught a trace of nervousness in her voice. She
balled her fists and squared her shoulders, as if bracing herself for
the command to strip.

She knows that she'd want to obey.

Lucas smiled. She was his mate. She would be powerless
to resist him, just as he would never be able to resist her. He
would want her always.

Lucas shook his head. “Charlotte, there's
something you should know. It'd be the full moon...in a few days'
time. Three, to be exact. And when that happens...”

“
I know, I know. You become a wolf,” she
cut him off impatiently. She was frantically doing up the buttons on
her jacket, as if buttoning herself up would afford her some
protection against his compelling command to strip. She obviously
didn't trust herself right now.

“
No, I don't transform uncontrollably into a wolf
during the full moon,” Lucas explained slowly. “Every
shifter should be able to control their shift and their beast at all
times. But—during the full moon, our...desire to mate would be
that much stronger. Fated mates will call to, and answer, each
other. They will take their mates, for the first time, under the
light of the full moon. The desire, the hunger and need will be too
powerful to resist. You...”

“
What has that got to do with me?” she
asked quickly, her tone defiant, but her eyes were showing too much
white.

You're my mate.

Lucas inhaled sharply, debating whether to say the
words.

“
Mr Rieve,” she began stiffly, jerking up
her chin. “Alpha. Sir.”

She was carting out all his titles, just to avoid
uttering his name.

She fiddled with her top button and closed her eyes
briefly. When she opened her eyes again, those green eyes glimmered
with comprehension and resolve. She took a shaky breath and started
to speak, “My sister was killed by a werewolf. I was nearly
killed by a werewolf. I was given a Potion of Promise, and I was
revived. But for this second chance at life, I made a Promise. I
promised to hunt and kill rogues, to avenge my sister. A werewolf
took away my only family.” Her voice shook. “Lucas, I
can never mate with a werewolf.”

She knows.

She knows she is my mate!

Lucas stepped towards her, but she backed away rapidly.

“
I...I have to go,” she stammered.
“I...have to do...what I have to do.”

“
Charlotte, let me...” He grabbed her
wrists.

“
Let me go!” she shouted, struggling in vain
against him.

“
Charlotte...”

“
You...can't...mate...with...me!”

“
Charlotte, I will never force you. You know
that. Just relax, and listen will you?” Lucas tried his best
to calm her down.

“
Let go! Ouch, you're hurting me!”

Lucas released her immediately, his eyes scanning her
for the slightest injury. Had he really hurt her?

The instant his fingers loosened over her wrists, she
reached under her coat. Lucas knew what she was going for, but he
didn't stop her. He didn't flinch when the silver blade appeared in
her hand and she lunged towards him.

With an anguished cry, she plunged the silver blade into
his gut. The silver burnt his flesh and his skin sizzled and smoked
as she yanked the dagger out. A muscle worked violently in Lucas's
jaw but he didn't even glance down at his wound. He kept his gaze
steadfastly on her face as she staggered back, gaping in horror at
the terrible wound in his belly and her smoking blade.

“
Why didn't you move?” she whispered. “I
could have killed you!”

He shook his head. “No, you couldn't. You
wouldn't.”

“
Why? Why do you have to be a werewolf?”
Tears slid down her cheeks.

“
I'm a wolf, Charlotte, but I'm not a rogue wolf.
The wolf that attacked your sister and you was a rogue. You're an
Enforcer. You hunt rogues, not werewolves,” he said slowly.
The scorching pain in his gut was making it difficult for him to
breathe, but he forced himself to take deep, steadying breaths and
focus on her.

She pressed her hand to her mouth and shook her head.
She was backing away from him, her face pale as her wide, green eyes
took in the ghastly knife wound in his stomach. Her silver blade was
shaking violently in her hand, dripping and smoking with his blood.
With a stifled sound that sounded like a sob and a scream, she turned
and fled from him.

The sight of her running from him, her black coat
whipping around her knees as she hurtled past the broken gate and
down the street sent an explosion of raw pain and wrath through his
body. Roaring her name, Lucas crashed after her, heedless of the
terrible wound in his torso. He chased her with a vengeance, with a
wild feral need, but she was receding from him.
Fear
and
pain have
lent her wings.

He wasn't going to let her get away from him. Gritting
his teeth, he lurched down the street, growling in frustration as her
scent grew fainter. He was beginning to see double, and he could
hardly hear anything above the desperate pounding in his ears. He
forced himself to keep going, to try to catch her scent again, but
his body wouldn't obey. Dropping to his knees, he shifted to his
wolf form. Shifting made his body reshape and renew itself, churning
out new cells to effect and complete the shift. Every time he
shifted, his body regenerated itself. That was why shifters
generally lived for a long, long time. They aged very slowly,
because of the constant renewal and regeneration of their cells.
Shifting took energy and focus, but it also helped them heal. Lucas
could feel the knife wound knitting together, but the wound was too
deep to close fully. It still hurt like hell, but at least his guts
were no longer in danger of spilling out. The wound was serious, but
not fatal. The silver hurt him badly, but it wouldn't kill him.
Only a hit to the heart would kill him.

He scanned the area, running down the length of the
deserted street, sticking close to the shadows. But there was no
trace of his mate. It was no use. He wouldn't be able to find her.
Not in this bludgeoned, bloody state, with his senses blunted by his
massive blood and energy loss.

Running down street after street, and stumbling blindly
into alleys and dead ends proved fruitless.

With his exertion, his wound was widening and bleeding
afresh. If he kept this up, he would be a dead wolf by morning.

He growled, forcing himself to turn around and head back
to the PAC Headquarters. He would get this bloody wound patched up,
just so he wouldn't be dragging his intestines through the streets
and tripping himself up. Then he would hunt her down.

He was running out of time. In about seventy-two hours,
the moon would be at its brightest and largest. And when that
happened, at the full moon, her need and desire would torment her to
the point of insanity.

She would need him, even if she didn't want him.

Lucas crashed into the building of the PAC Headquarters
and collapsed at the entrance. Someone dragged him in, shouting and
swearing. He heard Jett and Glenn's urgent voices and raised his
head, but he couldn't see anything against the glare of the overhead
lights. Silhouettes and shadows flitted across his vision, and
voices echoed endlessly, their words sounding garbled and distorted.

His last clear thought before everything went black was:
seventy-two
hours
.

Charlotte kept running, the image of Lucas flashing
before her eyes.

He had held himself completely still even as she lurched
towards him—and plunged her silver blade into his belly.

His eyes had widened in shock and pain, as she yanked
the dagger out of his body. He had looked her straight in the eye,
his gaze unwavering even as his flesh and skin burned. A muscle had
ticked violently in his jaw, but he had remained utterly still and
silent, even as blood oozed from his wound and his flesh sizzled and
hissed as the silver burnt through his skin and muscle.

The pain must have been excruciating, but the only
movement he made was to curl his fingers into tight fists at his
side. She caught blood seeping through his fingers as he ground his
claws into his palms.

She had stared at the horrendous wound on his stomach
with a horrible sick feeling. She had so badly wanted to press her
hands to the gaping wound to stop the bleeding. Instead, she pressed
her hand to her mouth to choke down a scream and a sob. Hurting
Lucas felt so, so wrong.

The wound she had inflicted on him was grievous, but it
wasn't fatal. To kill a werewolf, the silver had to pierce the
heart. He would hurt, but he would live.

But hurting him...was worse than hurting herself.

Her vision wavered, and she felt the first sting of hot
tears. Just before her tears fell, she turned and ran, scrambling
blindly out of the warehouse and through the broken gate. She heard
him roaring her name as he crashed after her, but she refused to look
back. Swiping away her tears, she kept on running.

She had to run...from him.

She ran hard, twisting through narrow, deserted streets
and avoiding the main roads where she could be seen by passersby and
motorists. She had to avoid being seen, and being caught.

She knew that he wouldn't be able to chase her for long.
He would not be able to go very fast or very far with that gash in
his stomach.

Sure enough, the sounds of his pounding steps and
bellowing rage gradually subsided and all she could hear was her own
labored breathing. Even then, she kept running, not really seeing
where she was going.

When she tripped and fell, she pushed herself up on her
hands and knees and allowed herself a backward glance over her
shoulder.

There was no one.

She got up and leaned against a lamppost, panting and
hiccuping. She couldn't tell if she was crying or just trying to
catch her breath. Her breaths were painful and shuddering, and her
ribcage constricted to squeeze her heart into a tortured knot.

Her body had awakened to his kiss, his touch, to
him
.
She had known, deep down that he was hers. He had made her come,
pleasured her, eased her without taking her, without taking his
pleasure and his release. She wanted him like no other.

Lucas Rieve, PAC Alpha, werewolf,
her mate
.

He was her mate. And she wanted, craved, hungered to be
claimed by him.

She knew that the wolf in him wouldn't allow his mate to
get away. He would chase her, hunt her down and claim her.

What was it like to have his powerful body over hers, to
have him sink fully and deeply into her, to have him fill her, take
her and claim her completely?

She gasped at the erotic image of their joined bodies,
silvery moonlight glinting off their wet, sleek backs as they moved
as one. There was a sudden, brief scent of the wild, of nature and
the night. She could see the full moon and the sparkle of water
droplets against the silhouette of leaves and branches. Charlotte
snapped her eyes open as the wind stirred and blew against her clammy
skin, clearing the vivid image from her mind.

Shivering, she pushed away from the lamppost and
steadied herself. She rubbed her arms, and frowned. When had it
become so cold? The temperature seemed to have dropped drastically
around her, making her breath curl into mist.

She tried to take a step forward, and found she
couldn't.

What the hell?

She was breathing harder, creating even more mist with
her hot, frantic breaths. But her breaths definitely did not account
for the dense fog which seemed to be forming around her at an
unnatural and alarming rate.

Charlotte tried to move again, but her feet felt as if
they had been bound.
Bound by mist?

Charlotte tensed and very slowly raised her hand to
reach under her jacket. The mist had curled round her legs, and
thickened as it rose to envelope her entire body. Charlotte could
feel a heavy, ominous presence around her.

“
Who's there?” she demanded. She blinked
hard but couldn't see through the dense fog.

She tried to reach for her vial of salt under her
jacket, but before her hands could wrap around the vial and pop the
lid, something cold slid over her wrists and she froze.

She opened her mouth to scream, but the mist appeared to
solidify into the shape of a hand before her eyes and sealed tight
over her mouth, cutting off her scream. The fog swirled around her,
creating all sorts of shapes and whispers.