Rowan
Survival was something that he lived with. And it burned hot in his mind, stayed on the tip of his tongue, was carved deep into his soul. But seeing her made him lose all sense of self, forget the promise that he'd made. Rowan would do anything to survive, to keep his mates alive.
But she was delicious, so damn fucking divine that it was as if he were naked with his mates, deep in the throes of Heat. And his cock was ready and waiting to stay hard for days, slick spilling, pre-cum flooding.
An Alpha
It was all her fucking fault for changing him, for turning him into something ugly that wanted more. It wanted a clit that vibrated, that pulsed and pounded against his prostate and push him to his orgasm with its speed. It wanted the fucking monster that was the only thing in this god forsaken world that could make him cum.
He wanted that ugly bald girl with bruises and the smell of the godliest peach, packaged in the scent of an Alpha.
He wanted her.
He was there in the wastelands for Zen.
Stupid little Zen who'd spent far too many hours lingering in the corners of the world, had grown distant from their warm, cosy nest. Zen who'd stay the night at Hemlock, distraction in his eyes when he returned in the wee hours of the morning with a strangeness to his usually buttery scent.
Zen who was now thicker, gooier, and richer— dollops of butter to the biscuit of his scent, and gallons of cream to his milky undertones. Zen who was happier out there, Zen who yearned to leave, slip out into the darkness with excuses on his tongue—an exciting battle, dinner with his best friend, hordes of fucking Lonely.
Gods. The others did not order Rowan to follow their mate, but he wanted to. Rowan had wanted to see what was causing the shifty eyes, the stolen packets of food from their fridge, the strange smile on Zen's face. He wanted to see what made their youngest giggle twice as hard and float across their home with sweet doe-eyes and a light in him that had grown rare with time.
He wanted to see what was making him so damn fucking happy.
Of course, it had to be a fucking girl.
The bitch had made him want to scream, a fucking Alpha of all fucking things. He knew the moment he'd saw her with her shorn hair and the leather around her throat. The smaller figure that stood before Zen, as pale as death in the night.
The bitches at Hemlock had it different, no collar to stop their abilities, no electric to scare them away. The truth was they were to be bait for the Lonely and their throats had to be bare and exposed, their scent had to be free.
Rowan had lingered in the trees, watched as they talked under the moonlight, like lovers, like mates. He wasn't obsessed with the girl, for fuck's sake it was just a girl. It was Zen that had him burning in the pits of hell. Zen with his glassy fucking eyes—pools of the night, a million stars. A gaze that was reserved for pack and pack only—galaxy, gleaming endless depths.
He'd fumed and raged, had fucking lost his shit when Zen's sweet, gorgeous eyes had warmed as if he were looking at love itself, at life itself, at something better than pack.
This was fucked up, so damn fucked up that Rowan had to hold himself to listen, had to bite down on his lower lip to stop the nausea from churning and frothing in his belly. His fists clenched, his rage steaming from his bones. His wolf was howling, smashing its body against its cage, begging for out, begging for death.
She'd done something, he knew she had, and he'd roared at her words—at her proclamation to claim Zen as hers. He'd charged forward with insanity clouding his mind to protect his mate. His body rippling into his transformation, burning through each bone break, each muscle tear. And then he was all wolf and snarling in her face.
The words were what caught him, distracted him, changed him back.
Run and don't look back. It'll calm down if it takes my heart.
She thought him to be Lonely.
It'd been coloured with so much concern, so much desperation it was as if he were the monster waiting to eat her alive. And in the haze, he'd noted that she'd bared her neck, allowed him the kill, the access. He'd sobered, his body shuddering back into its weaker form, his human form.
Then he was screaming over her, crazed laughter on his tongue, leaning over her prone body with a snap. He'd sink his teeth into her neck if he had to. And then he saw her—the girl, the Alpha, the peach. Their Alpha. He'd lost all air from his lungs, had melted into the ground at the tears bright in eyes that were so fucking warm, it was gold.
It was her.
The Alpha that had left him wanting, had taken him in that room, the Alpha that had made his heart pinch with sourness and his tongue flavour with bitter. He'd thought of her ever since, brooding in his room, waiting for her arrival, regretting his decisions.
It was her in all her glory, materialised as sweetness and danger. Dark hair curled around tiny ears, spread like silk upon the leaves. Eyes that were wide and pooling. The apples of her cheeks flushed with a little more health; lips pursed—ruby red. There was something familiar about the bones, the curves, the dips. But he was distracted, awfully distracted by the endless darkness in eyes so black it didn't make sense when they seemed to flit to a gorgeous gold.
He wouldn't let her go, never again. And his body was drooping, nose pressed to the side of her neck, to the waft of pure everlasting, juicy peach. It had him almost weeping with want. He understood now, the allure, the desire, the desperation in Zen's eyes because he too was begging.
The fake love.
"Your highness," she'd breathed and even that had him shuddering. "You don't know what you saw, it's not what you think. You're mistaken—"
But there was no mistake, not in the glorious fog of a strange beauty that made blood burn in his honeyed cheeks, made his fingers linger over the curve of her waist. His arm pressed tight over her head, capturing her, and then remembering how she'd made him cum so hard he forgot his fucking name.
He hadn't wanted to remember that day, broken hearted by his own body, destroyed by his own needs. He'd drowned himself in every other vice, sank his stress into goblets of poison. He hadn't wanted to feel, hadn't wanted to understand the thrum of his Omega who'd seemed convinced that the Alpha was the one for him.
Not his pack of six.
But at this moment, with his nose pressed to the devil herself. He'd wanted nothing more than to be utterly destroyed by her damn existence.
"I've waited," he began to weep with tears in his eyes and a pant on his tongue. "I've waited for so long for you, I ache. You don't understand, you changed me, you made me like this. You've got to take responsibility." He exhaled lips pulled, tongue lolling. "It was nothing like anything I've ever experienced. You're a fucking monster."
There was a hiss behind him, a hand at the back of his throat, pressed against his scent glands—Zen. His mate's voice was cold. "Let her go, Rowan." But he held on, held on to her with breathy exhales and a smile on his lips.
"This Alpha is ours Zen," he whispered, in awe at the strength of it, at the disgusting brainwashing, at the lure of fake love twisting thick in his throat. It was hell, but he loved it. "We have to, we have to take what we need," his eyes drew to the skin above her chest, wolf pounding in his head. Either he'd bend over and allow her to fuck him, or he'd have to eat out her heart—
He was wrenched back a snarl from his mate, fingers to his throat, lips on his ear. "You know what we have to do," was his hiss. "You can't destroy this for us." Rowan breathed hard, clawed at the hands on his throat. "You can't."
"I know," he whispered, but his voice was a whine a smooth pitch that he didn't understand on himself. "But it's so hard."