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Authors: Anya Byrne
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Love Letters from an Alpha
A Lone Wolf Pack Ripples Short Story
Anya Byrne
Copyright 2015
Chapter One
"Fuck, fuck, fuck."
Owen swore under his breath as he stole a look at his watch.
The bus seemed to be moving at a snail's pace today, and he was impossibly,
ridiculously late. He tapped his foot against the floor, knowing V would not be
pleased if he screwed up the schedule.
Not for the first time that day, Owen cursed his rotten luck.
Everything seemed to have conspired to delay him—from one of his teachers
deciding to prolong their class, to his mother calling in to demand her check
and his landlady asking for the rent money. The horrifying traffic hadn't
helped, and Owen clenched his fingers around the strap of his bag, wishing he
could be anywhere else but here.
When the bus finally reached his stop, Owen practically shot
out of the vehicle. It was already dark, but Owen knew every shortcut in the
neighborhood and could have found his way to his destination in his sleep.
He was panting and sweating when he finally ran the alley
that led to the backdoor of the club. Sonny, the bouncer, arched a brow at him.
"You're late, Ink. The boss is pissed."
"Yes, yes, I know. I'll talk to her later."
Sonny didn't delay him, and Owen slid inside, only to be
immediately intercepted by V. Seriously, the woman reminded Owen of an eagle,
zeroing in on him the moment he stepped into view. She grabbed his arm and
dragged him to the side, like a predator catching its prey.
"Mr. Ellis. Do you know what time it is?"
Owen nodded sheepishly, although in all honesty, he hadn't
checked since he'd been on the bus. "I'm sorry. I was delayed by some
personal difficulties."
V glowered at him. "I'm sure you were, but you have
responsibilities here, Mr. Ellis. Our club is popular for certain reasons, most
of which include our respectability and stability. One mistake can change
that."
"I know." Owen winced. "I'm just..."
Anything he said would have sounded like a stupid excuse, so
he trailed off. V sighed and her hold on him loosened. Her slender
fingers—strikingly strong despite their apparent softness—gripped his chin.
"Your mother?"
Owen nodded miserably, and V tsked. "Next time, call me.
I can give you an advance if you need it. You know that, Owen. You don't have
to run yourself into the ground."
Owen wanted to come up with a reply, to thank her, but she
smiled gently and patted his cheek. "Run along now, dear. You have five
minutes to get ready. Your show is just about to get started."
He hastened to comply, and he was already halfway to the
dressing room when V called out to him. "He's here tonight."
Owen's muscles seized, and for a few moments, he found that
he couldn't breathe. He forced himself to walk, although it was probably only
habit that got him to the dressing room without stumbling. Him.
V didn't have to elaborate on the identity of the person she
meant. Owen already knew. His heart was racing like he'd run a marathon—and not
because of his mad dash from the bus station.
With trembling hands, he reached for his costume. In his
eagerness, he almost dropped the damn thing, so he stopped and took a couple of
deep breaths.
He was being ridiculous. This was not the first time he had come, and it would most likely not be the last. Whatever hope or emotion he stirred in Owen's chest, there was no point in dwelling on it. That way lay
madness, heartbreak, and possibly the loss of his employment.
Owen liked the club because the dancers weren't required to
do more than that, dance. Other places were nothing more than glorified
brothels, crawling with pimps who'd have leaped at the chance to have someone
like Owen. But here, Owen knew he wouldn't be forced into anything. He hadn't
counted on meeting someone he actually wanted—in his bed, and out of it. For
that reason alone, the stranger was dangerous for his peace of mind. But maybe,
some risks were worth taking.
Owen studiously
A Lone Wolf Pack Ripples Short Story
Anya Byrne
Copyright 2015
Chapter One
"Fuck, fuck, fuck."
Owen swore under his breath as he stole a look at his watch.
The bus seemed to be moving at a snail's pace today, and he was impossibly,
ridiculously late. He tapped his foot against the floor, knowing V would not be
pleased if he screwed up the schedule.
Not for the first time that day, Owen cursed his rotten luck.
Everything seemed to have conspired to delay him—from one of his teachers
deciding to prolong their class, to his mother calling in to demand her check
and his landlady asking for the rent money. The horrifying traffic hadn't
helped, and Owen clenched his fingers around the strap of his bag, wishing he
could be anywhere else but here.
When the bus finally reached his stop, Owen practically shot
out of the vehicle. It was already dark, but Owen knew every shortcut in the
neighborhood and could have found his way to his destination in his sleep.
He was panting and sweating when he finally ran the alley
that led to the backdoor of the club. Sonny, the bouncer, arched a brow at him.
"You're late, Ink. The boss is pissed."
"Yes, yes, I know. I'll talk to her later."
Sonny didn't delay him, and Owen slid inside, only to be
immediately intercepted by V. Seriously, the woman reminded Owen of an eagle,
zeroing in on him the moment he stepped into view. She grabbed his arm and
dragged him to the side, like a predator catching its prey.
"Mr. Ellis. Do you know what time it is?"
Owen nodded sheepishly, although in all honesty, he hadn't
checked since he'd been on the bus. "I'm sorry. I was delayed by some
personal difficulties."
V glowered at him. "I'm sure you were, but you have
responsibilities here, Mr. Ellis. Our club is popular for certain reasons, most
of which include our respectability and stability. One mistake can change
that."
"I know." Owen winced. "I'm just..."
Anything he said would have sounded like a stupid excuse, so
he trailed off. V sighed and her hold on him loosened. Her slender
fingers—strikingly strong despite their apparent softness—gripped his chin.
"Your mother?"
Owen nodded miserably, and V tsked. "Next time, call me.
I can give you an advance if you need it. You know that, Owen. You don't have
to run yourself into the ground."
Owen wanted to come up with a reply, to thank her, but she
smiled gently and patted his cheek. "Run along now, dear. You have five
minutes to get ready. Your show is just about to get started."
He hastened to comply, and he was already halfway to the
dressing room when V called out to him. "He's here tonight."
Owen's muscles seized, and for a few moments, he found that
he couldn't breathe. He forced himself to walk, although it was probably only
habit that got him to the dressing room without stumbling. Him.
V didn't have to elaborate on the identity of the person she
meant. Owen already knew. His heart was racing like he'd run a marathon—and not
because of his mad dash from the bus station.
With trembling hands, he reached for his costume. In his
eagerness, he almost dropped the damn thing, so he stopped and took a couple of
deep breaths.
He was being ridiculous. This was not the first time he had come, and it would most likely not be the last. Whatever hope or emotion he stirred in Owen's chest, there was no point in dwelling on it. That way lay
madness, heartbreak, and possibly the loss of his employment.
Owen liked the club because the dancers weren't required to
do more than that, dance. Other places were nothing more than glorified
brothels, crawling with pimps who'd have leaped at the chance to have someone
like Owen. But here, Owen knew he wouldn't be forced into anything. He hadn't
counted on meeting someone he actually wanted—in his bed, and out of it. For
that reason alone, the stranger was dangerous for his peace of mind. But maybe,
some risks were worth taking.
Owen studiously
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