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Authors: Angelique Voisen
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noticed you until now?” the man
demanded.
Ricky shivered as he came closer
and closer. By the Gods, he had a wonderfully deep and smooth voice to match
the impressive girth of him. A ruggedly handsome face, broad shoulders, a chest
tapering to a slim waist and jeans that fit him like a second skin. Ricky bet
he had a nice ass to match those jeans too. He looked so good to eat, yet Ricky
had a suspicion he would be the only one about to be chewed.
Ricky backed away by instinct.
“Don’t be afraid, little Omega. I
won’t hurt you. Yet.” A smile curved on the stranger’s
lips.
Ricky wasn’t sure if it was meant
to be devious or malicious. Probably both, but Ricky couldn’t chance it. It was
now or never. He had to move and break the stalemate.
“Screw you,” Ricky whispered and
bolted. Not backwards, but forwards.
A look of surprise crossed the
dominant wolf’s features, but Ricky wasn’t foolish enough to face a wolf that
powerful head-on. He swiped the last box of Tofurky and began to backtrack to
the cashier. He’d done much worse things to survive before, and stealing the
last box of Tofurky under the nose of a frighteningly gorgeous wolf out for his
blood wasn’t the worst of them.
“Come back here, little wolf. We’re
not done talking.”
Ricky could spend hours listening
to the man talk with that voice of his. On his way to the exit, he purposely
toppled over a display of chips, satisfied to hear the other man behind him
curse. All he had to do was pay for his dinner, run a good distance to cloak
his presence, and the dominant wolf wouldn’t be able to sense him. Easy peasy. I can still prove to the Alpha and the
other wolves of the Starr Mountain Pack that I’m worth something.
Too bad fate wasn’t letting him
off. His eyes bulged at the sight of the long queue ahead. Only one cashier was
open and a gaggle of old ladies pushed their trolleys indolently by, while
chatting amicably with each other. Hearing an impatient growl behind him, Ricky
decided to bypass the queue.
Screw it. It was just one box of
mock meat patties.
“Donnie, what’s up?” a voice called
from the queue.
“Derrick, unwanted visitor in
town!” hollered the familiar voice of the man chasing him.
Derrick?
Derrick Starr, the wayward prodigal Beta I’m supposed to be convincing to head
back with me? Ricky craned his head for a second only to see another
monstrous bulk of a man in a faded pair of jeans and a denim jacket standing
with a handsome dark-haired slender man. The Alpha told him to look out for a
grossly overweight man who waddled rather than walked, but the wall of meat
studying him with apparent curiosity was made of pure muscle. Shit. I can’t take a powerful Beta like
that.
What was it with all the wolves in
New Haven? Were they all gorgeous, buff and lethal looking?
Unlike how the media portrayed
werewolves, real werewolves weren’t invincible. They had to work hard to keep
in shape and were prone to health diseases like any normal humans, such as diabetes or heart
attacks.
“Need some help?” called Derrick.
“No. I can handle this Omega. The
little wolf is mine. So stay out of it Starr.” Donnie’s words were followed by a thin growl.
“Sure. Happy
hunting, Don.”
The
little wolf is mine. Ricky shivered at the way the dominant wolf said those
words. They almost sounded dangerously possessive to him. The words briefly
summoned ill memories for Ricky. Recollections of being forcefully held down by
rough and brutal hands, tied face down on the table while everyone had a go at
him. On one hand, he was fine with being the pack’s designated punching bag,
because he knew he’d be treated the same way in any wolf pack all across the
Quad Cities. Being the pack’s submissive whore on the other hand, to be used
and abused by any dominant wolf, was the worse.
By pack laws, a submissive wolf
could flock to his protector, a more dominant wolf. But if his protector had no
interest in
demanded.
Ricky shivered as he came closer
and closer. By the Gods, he had a wonderfully deep and smooth voice to match
the impressive girth of him. A ruggedly handsome face, broad shoulders, a chest
tapering to a slim waist and jeans that fit him like a second skin. Ricky bet
he had a nice ass to match those jeans too. He looked so good to eat, yet Ricky
had a suspicion he would be the only one about to be chewed.
Ricky backed away by instinct.
“Don’t be afraid, little Omega. I
won’t hurt you. Yet.” A smile curved on the stranger’s
lips.
Ricky wasn’t sure if it was meant
to be devious or malicious. Probably both, but Ricky couldn’t chance it. It was
now or never. He had to move and break the stalemate.
“Screw you,” Ricky whispered and
bolted. Not backwards, but forwards.
A look of surprise crossed the
dominant wolf’s features, but Ricky wasn’t foolish enough to face a wolf that
powerful head-on. He swiped the last box of Tofurky and began to backtrack to
the cashier. He’d done much worse things to survive before, and stealing the
last box of Tofurky under the nose of a frighteningly gorgeous wolf out for his
blood wasn’t the worst of them.
“Come back here, little wolf. We’re
not done talking.”
Ricky could spend hours listening
to the man talk with that voice of his. On his way to the exit, he purposely
toppled over a display of chips, satisfied to hear the other man behind him
curse. All he had to do was pay for his dinner, run a good distance to cloak
his presence, and the dominant wolf wouldn’t be able to sense him. Easy peasy. I can still prove to the Alpha and the
other wolves of the Starr Mountain Pack that I’m worth something.
Too bad fate wasn’t letting him
off. His eyes bulged at the sight of the long queue ahead. Only one cashier was
open and a gaggle of old ladies pushed their trolleys indolently by, while
chatting amicably with each other. Hearing an impatient growl behind him, Ricky
decided to bypass the queue.
Screw it. It was just one box of
mock meat patties.
“Donnie, what’s up?” a voice called
from the queue.
“Derrick, unwanted visitor in
town!” hollered the familiar voice of the man chasing him.
Derrick?
Derrick Starr, the wayward prodigal Beta I’m supposed to be convincing to head
back with me? Ricky craned his head for a second only to see another
monstrous bulk of a man in a faded pair of jeans and a denim jacket standing
with a handsome dark-haired slender man. The Alpha told him to look out for a
grossly overweight man who waddled rather than walked, but the wall of meat
studying him with apparent curiosity was made of pure muscle. Shit. I can’t take a powerful Beta like
that.
What was it with all the wolves in
New Haven? Were they all gorgeous, buff and lethal looking?
Unlike how the media portrayed
werewolves, real werewolves weren’t invincible. They had to work hard to keep
in shape and were prone to health diseases like any normal humans, such as diabetes or heart
attacks.
“Need some help?” called Derrick.
“No. I can handle this Omega. The
little wolf is mine. So stay out of it Starr.” Donnie’s words were followed by a thin growl.
“Sure. Happy
hunting, Don.”
The
little wolf is mine. Ricky shivered at the way the dominant wolf said those
words. They almost sounded dangerously possessive to him. The words briefly
summoned ill memories for Ricky. Recollections of being forcefully held down by
rough and brutal hands, tied face down on the table while everyone had a go at
him. On one hand, he was fine with being the pack’s designated punching bag,
because he knew he’d be treated the same way in any wolf pack all across the
Quad Cities. Being the pack’s submissive whore on the other hand, to be used
and abused by any dominant wolf, was the worse.
By pack laws, a submissive wolf
could flock to his protector, a more dominant wolf. But if his protector had no
interest in
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