SIENNA’S POV:
My sheets are a tangled mess between my thighs and my heart is hammering against my ribs. I’ve woken up breathless again. It is the same dream; always him. He is the one who haunts my sleep with a hunger that makes my toes curl with pleasure, leaving me damp. I’m seventeen years old and I am just tired of being this restless. I am usually the composed one, but this heat is a persistent itch I cannot scratch.
In the dream, he is lying beside me on silk sheets in that oversized estate of his. His boxers are tight against the outline of his cock; his chest is bare.
"Mmmm," he hums against my lips, pinching my nipples until my clit pulses.
I move my mouth down the hard planes of his chest. He twists my swollen buds. He knows exactly how to pull those breathy moans out of me.
"Ahhhh," I sigh, a sound that always makes his grip tighten.
I take his nipple between my teeth, swirling my tongue. He smells like salt, pine and old wood. It is a heavy alpha musk that clogs my nose. I grab the hard length of him through the thin fabric, tracing my fingers over him until he jerks.
"Oh, my alpha," I purr, dragging my nails down his shaft just to tease.
His breath hitches.
"You're dripping fo…"
"I know," He interrupts, leaning forward.
It is a weird thrill, I guess. A country girl in boots reducing a city wolf (like him) in Italian leather shoes and pressed suits to a trembling mess. He owns my dreams, and at this point I’m just exhausted by the routine of this fake scene. I want the real thing.
"Oh, yesss! Yes! Good goddess," he murmurs. His hips buck as I circle the head of his cock with light strokes. His moan vibrates against my lips as I kiss him again.
"You're a bad…" He begins.
"I'm a lot of things," I say, focusing on his other nipple. I suck until his voice cracks.
"Oh, Sienna."
My inner wolf presses against my skull. She is not reserved at all; she’s just loud.
"More," she growls. "Give him more. Then mark him with your teeth."
I wonder if I should. A nibble just to taste the salt on his skin; to leave a mark where no one else can see. But his wife would find it.
"He is not actually mine and you know that," I tell my wolf, feeling the weight of the fantasy leaving a lump in my throat. But still…
He pinches my nipples once more and his fingers send a jolt to my clit; it is rough and perfect. I trace my nails up his cock again. He is straining against the cotton and jerks at my touch. I would let him split me open on that wolfish steel until I screamed.
"My sweet, sweet little honey bee," he murmurs. His blue eyes clench shut. My father uses that nickname. It should not make heat pool between my legs, but the way his voice roughens up those words does it. My inner wolf arches, her claws pricking at my ribs.
"He smells like winter pine," she snarls. "Bite him. Now."
"No! I can't! Father would…"
"Do it," she huffs.
This horny wolf, barely here, will be the death of me when I finally set her free at my coming of age ceremony. I ignore her and focus on him.
"You're so hard right now... my lord," I tease. I trace the swollen ridge of his cock with my fingertip.
"Oh, princess," he laughs, covering my hand with his, forcing me to squeeze him tight.
The room smells of pine and musk and the thick, salty scent of his arousal. My wolf paces, her claws scraping against my insides. He rolls his hips; pre-cum dampens the fabric. I hook my fingers into the waistband of his boxers, ready to finally see him. That thickened length I have spent every night seeking. But no…
Morning light pierces the dream and tears it away. I blink my eyes open.
— ♡ ♡ ♡ —
The sun is low and the sky is an orange-blue when he finally shows up; not in a dream this time, but actually sitting on our farmhouse porch. My chest feels tight. He has no clue how many seconds I spend counting his visits, or how my ribs ache when he is gone.
He sits on the step with his legs wide. He is probably overcompensating for something. Inside my head, my wolf is pacing and scraping her claws against my brain.
"Close your legs, Sienna. He can scent you," she says.
"He can?" I ask, standing up from the grass where I am pulling petals off daisies. The air smells like heavy musk. My musk. Shit.
His forearms flex as he leans on the railing, looking like some kind of mythical norse god. The light hits the blonde stubble on his jaw. My thighs press together instinctively.
"So, Dr. Greyson," I say, twisting a flower. "Tell me about Pandora again."
I have heard the stories a hundred times, but I’d listen a thousand more just to keep him looking at me. He smells like pine needles and old whiskey. My skin prickles.
"Oh, honey bee," he says, his voice sounding like gravel. "You wish y’could’ve…" He cuts himself off with a chuckle. "Seen it."
My wolf whimpers in my head, which is honestly pathetic.
"He is married," I tell her, internally. "To the hive queen. To power. So shut it."
Logic does not help when he is this close, smelling like a rainstorm and bad decisions. He is here only for my father and uncle (the Blue Moon Alpha and Beta); not for me and I hate that.
Anne Marie is giggling nearby, almost tripping over her own feet while she flirts with Marcus, Patrick’s half-brother.
"Honey bee, you best believe him. Pandora was a sight," my father says.
Patrick turns toward him with a smirk. His scent gets heavier; he is pleased. My father is taking his side. Great.
"I prefer Earth," I say, like a spoiled princess, pulling more petals. "I was born here."
"He loves us, he loves us not," my wolf purrs. The last petal falls. "He loves us?" She gasps. It is dramatic and annoying, but my heart still jumps.
Dr. Greyson (Patrick) winks at my father. "She’s a tough one to crack."
I walk over and take my spot on the porch. He brushes my knee with his. It is an accident, obviously, but my wolf growls.
"He knows what he is doing," she says.
It’s unfair that this ancient “wolf” king is playing games with me (a young she-wolf) while I am still learning how to use my senses. My father watches us with amusement in his green-blue eyes.
Patrick leans closer. He smells like spiced rum and alpha musk. His breath is warm against my ear. "Shall I describe what you cannot see yet, little honey bee? There is a stag…"
"Not the hunting lessons again, Pat," my father groans from behind us. "She is the best in our pack’s training class."
Patrick’s pupils dilate. "Ah, but she has no fangs. Such weak little omega eyes."
The insult burns. My spine goes stiff.
"I am a princess," I snap, chin held high. "A Zeta. Not some omega."
Anne Marie snorts into her hands, laughing like a hyena. Marcus just stares at her like she’s his whole world.
"You tell him, Sienna," my father says, sounding patronizing.
Patrick ignores me and turns back to my father.
"She could never outhunt a true Pandorian." He pats his chest. "Her wolf has not even risen."
How dare he? My wolf snarls, her claws scraping at my insides like it’s his eyes.
"Isaac, come taste this sweet potato pune," my mother calls through the screen door.
"Ooo. Coming, dear," my father coos, rubbing his hands.
He opens the door. The aroma smells like roasted beef and sugary desserts, mixing with Patrick’s scent of pine and oak.
"Mate. Ours," my wolf whines.
"No," I argue in my head. "He is not."
I have not even shifted yet. My wolf is barely a whisper. But the way Patrick looks at me, like he is starving, makes me wonder if he is.
"C’mon, Mr. Walker. Sweet taters..." Anne Marie pulls Marcus to the porch, clinging to his arm.
Marcus hesitates, his grip tight on the porch railing. He gives his brother a warning look, but Patrick ignores him. Patrick's scent hits me; it is heavy and fills the space around me. Annie finally coaxes him through the screen door.
Now it is just Patrick and me. He presses his thigh against mine (accidentally, of course), and the heat sears through my denim. I wonder if he knows that I like him.
"Oh. He does." My wolf purrs.
Patrick starts talking in that British voice of his. He’s telling stories about Pandora, kings, queens and wars. He thumb-brushes my knee. Then grazes my throat with his fingers. My breath hitches.
"The last Alpha King... my father," he says, touching the pulse under my jaw. "Marked his..." He rubs his thumb over the mate mark spot. He leans in, his lips brushing my ear. "...queen right here before he ripped out the throats of anyone who looked at her twice."
My wolf howls.
"But then there was he... that demon king..." His voice drops as he reaches the end of the story. He points toward the trees where the last bit of sunlight hits the branches. "Look! What's that?"
The low growl he makes causes the hair on my neck to stand.
"What?" I ask, feeling a spike of fear.
His blue eyes are locked on something. I squint, but I see nothing. I refuse to let him win. I bolt upright, my knuckles turning light against the railing. The yard is purple in the twilight. Nothing moves except some leaves and a distant hawk.
He growls again. My pulse speeds up. He sounds like he is protecting us.
"What? What is..." My voice is too high. I step down, my bare toes curling against the rough, weathered wood.
Still nothing. Just the rustle of branches. Then he laughs. It is a loud sound. Suddenly I am not scared; I am just annoyed.
"My goodness! Your poor little wolfy eyes…" He chuckles. "Not yet matured."
The mockery sets my teeth on edge. He smells like spiced oak and something arousing. My wolf stirs; she is small but defiant.
"Pompous wolf king," she snarls. I glare at him.
"I'll have my wolf soon... You'll see." I lift my chin. I scan the trees again. There has to be something there. I tighten my fingers on the rail, splinters bite into my palms.
"No, little wolf. It's not about me ‘seeing’..." His breath is hot against my ear. He grips my waist, his fingers flexing against my hips. "Can you even see…?"
His scent wraps around me; it smells like dark honey and musk. My inner wolf whimpers. She wants me to tilt my head back and bare my throat to him. I grit my teeth instead.
"See what exactly?" I snap, twisting away from him. "I don't see a thing. It's too dark for my human eyes."
He chuckles again.
"Come here. Come closer, Sienna." He sounds like he owns me. He snags my belt loop and reels me back up a step until my back hits his chest. He traps me with his knees.
Heat climbs my spine. His palms span my waist, and he thumb-brushes the skin just below my navel, where my cropped blouse ends. My heart thumps loud enough for him to hear.
"Look right there," he says against my ear, pointing.
My wolf whines needy in my brain.
"Let him mark... please?" She begs.
"No! Stop it!" I snap back mentally. "He's married and already..."
He brushes the shell of my ear with his lips. Almost like a kiss.
"Look, Cee-Cee. Right there." His chest rumbles against my back. I look but see nothing and he knows it. "Can you even spot danger…? Some pack huntress you are."
I follow his finger until my eyes water. It is just shadows. Then I feel his gaze drag down my throat to my breasts. He catches my breath hitching. His smirk is smug.
I turn my head to face him. Our lips are so close I can taste his breath. It is warm and spiced. My wolf surges forward.
"Do it," she purrs. "Just one bite..."
"I could just steal a peck..." I argue silently. "But where would that get me? In big trouble with my papa... so hush it."
She whimpers as his wedding band glints under the porch light. His pupils are blown wide. The air is heavy with his alpha musk. I press my thighs together. He looks away, alert.
"What are you looking at now?" I challenge.
"Look, look, look... It's just..."
I sniff the air. I catch it.
"Rabbit?" I ask mentally.
My wolf huffs. "Yes, he's lying," she hisses. "There's no real danger... it smells like rabbit."
Thick fingers jab my waist.
"Ahh!" I shriek, leaping forward into his arms. He moves with wolf-speed, treating me like a ragdoll. His grip tightens.
"What are you doing, doctor?" I snap.
"A lie again," my wolf purrs. "He just wanted an excuse to touch you. You like it, don’t you…?"
He spins me to face him. The light catches the gold in his stubble. His laugh vibrates through my ribs.
"I got you!" His thighs cage mine. Heat pools in my belly. He grins wickedly. "How can you even help protect your own pack when you can't even see…?"
"Dr. Patrick... That's not funny..." I cross my arms. My wolf bares her teeth behind my stare.
I twist away, but only enough to make his grip tighten. I let him reel me back in, faking my escape. His musk wraps around me.
"Well, I thought it was." His breath fans across my lips as he drags me flush against him.
Jokester. I thought it was pretty funny as well. But I’m not gonna tell him that.
The porch light flickers; it casts a jagged shadow across his jaw. He smells like heavy musk and an old wolf. He digs his fingers into my waist; the pressure leaves crimson marks on my mocha toned skin.
"You missed the little rabbit I was trying to show you." he says, his voice barely a vibration. "Lesson number one: there is always something..."
I grit my teeth. He laughs, and his grip tightens until my ribs ache.
"So, there really was something there? A fucking rabbit?" I ask; I can't even pretend to be surprised. "Tell me again. Since when are rabbits so damn dan..."
He chuckles and I pause. That look in his eyes is unreadable. I can only imagine what he’s thinking right about now. My teenage self cursing at a hive king like him? He pushes his fingers deeper into my hips; it's a deliberate, annoying pressure. His scent fills the air, thick and cloying. He looks at me; alpha gold leaks into his blue gaze. My breath catches in my throat.
"Of course there was something there. But you… you kept..." he grins, showing teeth that look too sharp to be human. He doesn't let go; his thighs pin me against him. "A fucking rabbit, as you put it. You’re fired by the way."
I struggle against him; it is a half hearted effort to get away.
"Fired from what, exactly?" I ask; keeping my chin lifted.
My wolf growls in my skull; it feels like a dull headache.
"Stop lying and fighting him. You don't want him to let go..." she says.
I ignore her. I also ignore how my nipples rub against the fabric of my blouse when he shakes me; it is a sharp, irritating friction. But my goddess it feels so good. His nostrils flare; he can smell the arousal and my nervousness.
"Fired from being pack beta," he purrs; he thinks it is a joke, eyes full of amusement.
His breath smells like pine needles and warm mint. My wolf whimpers; it feels like a muscle cramp against my ribs.
"You cannot fire me," I say. "He already picked..."
He laughs, cutting me off; the sound vibrates in my chest like a heavy engine. He squeezes both my wrists, restraining me; the pressure makes my blood pulse against his skin.
"Firing you implies you were ever hired, little wolf," he says; he drags me closer until the heat of his chest burns through my shirt. My knees feel like jelly. "Last I checked, omegas do not get interviews for beta ranks," he murmurs against my lips. "They kneel..."
I am not an omega. I am a princess, which is probably why this is so amusing to him.
"Maybe you are not getting it, Superior Alpha Dr. Lord Greyson," I say, rolling my eyes while mocking his long list of titles.
My wolf is thrilled. "Get him, Sienna..."
His eyes glow and he smirks.
"I can fire you from your position and pick someone else." he warns.
Blasphemy.
"Not really. Have you forgotten? Us Blue Mooners are not part of your hive." I wink; he stiffens.
And it’s true. We still slink beyond the glittering skyline of Wolf Springs (his headquarters). Free of his control, a loner pack that’s never been sworn for years.
His scent spikes again; it feels like heavy chains wrapping around my neck.
"Stop playing these silly little games, girl. Let him mark us." My wolf whines; feeling like she’s clawing at my insides again. But I am not his.
"Oh, but your father would give me the authority to..." he says, smirking, his warm breath hitting my neck. He keeps my wrists restrained in his grip.
"But it is not up to Papa! And Brahm would not want..." I snap, twisting in his grip.
He tightens his fingers; it is a punishing, proprietary hold.
"When you two get your actual wolves, who do you think will be a better hunter?" he asks; thumb-tracing over the veins of my wrists. "Flatter me, honey bee." There is a sudden heat between my thighs. "How can Brahm even trust your judgment?" he asks; his British accent drops lower. "When you cannot even spot a little bunny..."
I bare my teeth, human and useless in my unshifted form. I try to pull away but can’t. He chuckles. The porch light flickers (my young Zeta magic); his pupils are huge now.
"Alpha likes it when you fight back," my wolf purrs.
"Look, it is dark out here and I am still wolfess," I hiss; I try to step away, yanking my arms. But he has me trapped. His grip is cruel.
"Not a good enough excuse, young lady," he says, pulling me back towards him.
He brutally squeezes me in his grip and my wrists ache with pain. Something I’ve never felt before. I squeal and my wolf whimpers inside my psyche. I yank again to free myself but he doesn’t budge.
"Ouch... You’re hurting me," I say; my voice cracks. He has me locked in with his thighs once more. The smell of his arousal is thick.
He strokes my wrists; moving his thumbs slowly like he’s trying to soothe me.
"I will shift at my coming of age ceremony under the full moon," I insist; I look into his gold flecked eyes. The scent of him makes my wolf twist under my skin. "I will have my wolf. Perfect vision. A flawless nose. You know that..."
He is always softer with Brahm. Never with me.
"Yes, yes, our little honey bee is growing up so fast," he says.
The nickname is patronizing. The tone is fatherly. It feels like the days when I was a pup sneaking cookies from his study with my twin brother, giggling while he pretended not to see.