Authors: Layla Cole
By Layla Cole
Copyright 2012 Layla
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All characters in
this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or
dead, is entirely coincidental.
Table of Contents
of the Wolf
by the Alpha
With the Alpha
Dreaming of the
I had the dream
again last night. Well, the first part is more of a memory, really.
It's almost always like this…
I'm a wolf, running
under the full moon. I've split off from my pack to run joyfully
through the forest, feeling the dirt under my paws and the wind
rushing through my fur. But I'm not alone for long--I'm joined by
another wolf. A strange werewolf. We greet each other and take off
through the night.
Something in me
recognizes this stranger. His scent seems familiar to the human self
that is buried deep inside. The wolf shrugs it off. It's enough to
know that when morning comes this stranger will belong to me, and I
to him. He senses it too, I know. I want him so badly that I spend
half the night fantasizing about how he'll look in his human form,
but I force myself to wait.
Together, we howl at
the moon, brilliant in the clear skies of the Blue Ridge Mountains.
We play, wrestling each other in the dirt, mock fighting, trying to
figure out who is more dominant. He loses and I growl in triumph. We
hunt together, tracking a deer that soon falls beneath our claws and
bared fangs. I feel gloriously alive.
As night fades, I
feel safe enough with this new wolf to fall asleep beside him, my
nose buried in his fur. He is already asleep, seemingly content.
Then the dream
shifts. I am somewhere else, somewhere hazy. It doesn't seem to
What does matter to
me is the man on his knees before me. His dark hair hangs straight
past his shoulders, but I can't see his face. He holds my hips as my
cock disappears into his mouth. I lose myself in the wet heat that
surrounds me as he takes me in deeper and gives a low moan. I can't
stop myself. I hold his head close to me, my hands buried in his
hair, and take over. I fuck his mouth desperately, savagely, and he
groans as if he loves it.
It's over all too
soon. I come in his mouth, jerking, my balls so tight they almost
hurt and the release more like an explosion than an orgasm. I feel
him swallow greedily around me, taking everything I give him.
He looks up at me as
my cock slips from his mouth and I get the briefest impression of a
smile. But I still can't see his face. In my dream, though, I know
who this man is so it doesn't matter. It's only my real self that is
frustrated with the shadows that hide my lover from me.
And then I wake up.
I'm alone, and so hard I'm aching. I can practically feel his mouth
around me, but it's an illusion.
Just like our night
together was an illusion. You see, I went to sleep happy, curled up
next to the wolf I was convinced would accept me as a lover. And then
I woke up alone, naked in the forest, the taste of blood still in my
mouth from the deer we killed. The wolf--the man--who ran beside me
all night was gone. I tried to track him, but I lost him at a small
creek. I sat in the mud at the water's edge, thinking. Somehow I knew
even then that I wouldn't find any tracks on the other bank. The
stranger didn't just run away; he covered his tracks so I wouldn't be
able to find him. Covered his scent so all I could catch was a hint
I remember wanting
to howl in despair as the early morning sun shone down upon me. Where
did the stranger go? Why did he leave?
It's been a year
since that night. At first, I was hopeful. Who the hell would just
leave like that, after feeling what I felt? After recognizing his
mate? But then I started to doubt myself. After a few months, I
started brooding and now--well, now I've almost given up. The rest of
the pack tried to cheer me up at first, but I think they've given up
now, too. Ah, well. Their concern is touching, but it doesn't really
help. Having my mate would, but oh well.
Since he's not
around, I just have to take things day by day. Someday, I tell
myself, I'll forget all about him.
I tell myself the
same thing today as I pull myself out of bed. It gets a little harder
every day, but today I'm meeting a client. A friend of mine, as a
matter of fact. I'm a freelance graphic designer, so I work from
home. Normally, I wouldn't schedule any appointments before a decent
hour--noon, say--but Drew is a morning person. It's annoying. Drove
me crazy when we were roommates and still does now, but hey, he's a
friend and I owe him a favor or two. It would be nice not to wake up
hard and lonely beforehand, but I just have to deal with it.
It's 6 a.m. Who gets
up this early? I grab some coffee, then go for a run, hoping exercise
will improve my current state of mind. It doesn't, though, and when I
get back I still have some time to kill. At least I have a few
minutes to pretend my dream lover is around while I jack off in the
shower. The brief moment of satisfaction doesn't last, though. Rarely
I hear a car pull up
as I get dressed. Drew? I take a quick peek out the window as I pull
my jeans on. I don't recognize the grey car in the driveway, but I'd
know that face anywhere. Trust Drew to be early--I still have fifteen
minutes, damn it. All the same, I shove my irritation away as I get
ready for the appointment. I like him. We were good friends back in
college, but I haven't seen him in oh, a year or two I'd guess. He
moved to California after we got out of school and hasn't been around
in a while. I'm looking forward to seeing him again, especially since
he hinted that he might be moving back to North Carolina. Some part
of me hopes it'll be like old times, I suppose.
When he doesn't come
inside right away, I walk outside to meet him. He's in the car
fiddling with the radio or something, his hair falling down over his
eyes. Dark and shaggy the way I like it. Not many men can pull it off
the way he does, though. Content to watch for a moment, I wait to see
if he'll look up. He's ignoring me for some reason, though. Strange.
I rap on the window to get his attention and he looks up, flushed, a
guilty look in his green eyes. He's hiding something from me. What?
Be there in a
he mouths at
me. I nod, frowning, and go back inside to wait for him. Ah, well.
Drew's not a very good liar, so if he's hiding something, I'll find
out what it is soon. One way or another.
I don't have room
for a dedicated office, so I've got everything set up in the kitchen.
Yeah, it's kind of unofficial, but I don't meet most of my clients in
person. These days, a few phone calls and e-mails are about all the
contact I have with people outside the pack. As I sort through my
files, fire up my laptop, and go over my notes, I wonder what the
hell's wrong with my old college friend. After a while, I look at the
time. Fifteen minutes have passed while I've been sitting here
waiting. Where's Drew? He wanted to meet at the crack of dawn, after
all--and yes, I think 7 a.m. qualifies as the crack of dawn. Sue me.
Leaning on the
table, I drum my fingertips on the surface in irritation. When the
door finally opens, though, it catches me off guard.
It's not the man who
stands so awkwardly in front of the door that catches my attention,
though the sudden kick of arousal I feel when he comes in is a
surprise. No, what really startles me is the scent that fills my
nostrils when he walks in. It's a familiar smell: slightly musky,
masculine, but with notes of cinnamon and an exotic spice I can't
name. That's the scent that haunts my dreams every night. Smelling it
here, now, can only mean one thing.
I lift my eyes to
meet the gaze of the man I've been dreaming about. Green eyes, wide
with apprehension. Does he realize that I know? Or is he nervous
about something else? With a groan, I lower my eyes. I want to be
angry, and I am, but at the same time I can't deny the desire that
surges through me. For nearly a year, I've fantasized about what I'd
do when my mate walked back into my life, but now that he's here I'm
paralyzed. I don't know what to say, and so for a long moment I say
Drew shifts from
side to side and sighs. I can practically hear his racing heart from
where I sit at the table, but nothing I want to do will make him calm
down. Damn it all to hell. I want him to suffer. I want to fuck him.
I'm not sure the two belong together. When is he going to say
something, I wonder? I need to do something about the tension in the
room that doesn't involve taking to the ground and fucking him
senseless. I just have to hope that he made up a reason to meet--and
I'm sure he has no other reason for being here now--because he's
sorry. Or something.
sake, sit down," I growl, gesturing at a nearby chair. He's
nervous, but as he takes a seat I can pick up the scent of his
arousal. Him being turned on like that isn't helping my state of mind
says awkwardly, "what's up, Ian?" He's got a deep voice
that rasps along my nerves, but today he's subdued, soft. So
different from how he used to be I have to wonder what the hell's
happened to him.
say, mocking him, "you came back." Something occurs to me.
"Since when are you a werewolf?" If he was changed
recently, it might explain why I didn't recognize him right away. His
scent's different--there's a faint layer of old human Drew
underneath, but the rest has altered enough that I'd never have
recognized him if he weren't standing right in front of me.
He sprawls across
the chair and shrugs. "Since when are you?" Damn, he looks
tired. And his nose looks like it was broken at some point, a small
bump marring the otherwise straight line of it. Still, he's gorgeous
and I can't help but be aware of it now that I know he's mine. Or
will be mine.
I drawl. His eyes widen. "Look, I know why you're here. I'm not
I can tell he wants
to run or say something snappy, but instead he nods slowly. "Yeah,
I knew you'd recognize me once you saw me in human form again."
He sighs one more time. "I got attacked by a rogue werewolf a
couple of years ago. It's still kind of new."
"No pack to
help you through it?" We try to help as many newly-made wolves
as we can, but some slip through the cracks.
want to shake him and hug him at the same time. "Look, I'm
sorry. I didn't know--I thought…" His voice trails off
and he gestures helplessly, his hands tracing random shapes in the
air. "I wanted to come home. That night--with you--I don't know,
it just scared me. I woke up and realized it was you and that just
freaked me out even more. Fuck, I didn't know you were a wolf. Last
time I saw you, I didn't even know any of this shit existed."
In that sense, I had
it easy. Being born a werewolf means that I grew up accepting the
supernatural. He didn't. That doesn't mean I'm going to let him off
the hook, though. "Do you have any idea what you did to me when
you left?" He should. He's helped me through more than one
Drew winces. "I
do now. That's why I came back. I want to--I don't know, give this a
chance, I guess." I want to leap across the desk and throttle
him, tackle him, sheathe myself inside him. I want to make him happy,
but I want to make him pay. Who the hell is this fucked up?
"Tell me, and
be honest, what did you feel that night? Anything?" I barely
recognize my voice--it's gone raspy, hoarse. It feels like the words
are sticking in my throat.
Drew nods slowly,
his eyes meeting mine with a wariness that kills me. What the hell is
he afraid of? I promise myself right then that whenever we get this
shit sorted out, I'm going to find out exactly what happened. I never
want to see that look again. I will him to say something, anything,
but it seems like forever before he finally does. "I
felt--peaceful, I guess," he admits. "Happy. Like I'd just
found something I didn't even know I was missing."