Her Alphas

Gabrielle Holly

Book 2 in the Wolf’s Mark series.

In the shadow world, human
laws don’t apply. Here, animal lust and instinct rule. Gwen Chaney has been
thrust into this alternate reality by virtue of her lineage. With one foot in
the normal world and the other in the supernatural, she must find herself,
discover her destiny and submit to her true nature. She is at once savior,
sinner, predator and prey. The ferocious love of a werewolf alpha and a
cat-shifter king will be either her salvation or her demise.

Reader Advisory: This story has graphic sexual language and
scenes—no closed bedroom doors (or other rooms) here!

A
paranormal erotica
story from Ellora’s Cave

Jenny tilted her face to the full moon and breathed in the
cool forest air. Her nose twitched as she detected pine needles, rotting leaves
and the musk of living creatures. Each scent brought with it an image, creating
a flickering mental slideshow.

In the months since her change, Jenny’s senses had grown
almost unbearably acute. It was as if she were experiencing the world for the
first time and her mind raced to take it all in.

She could get lost in the complex flavors of fresh fruit—or
raw meat—and the glitter of sunlight on the lake took her breath away. This new
reality was a better high than she could get from any drug—and she’d tried them
all.

A light breeze swirled through the clearing, and when her
long blonde hair brushed over her bare skin, she shivered. Every nerve ending
seemed to bloom at the slightest touch and she’d begun chasing the feast of new
sensations.

Sex used to be the currency she’d traded to survive, but now
it fed her ever-growing power. Right up until the night she’d been bitten,
Jenny had used her tight little body to get what she needed—food, drugs, a
place to crash. She’d coasted from one meaningless business transaction to the
next—fucking rich old men in limousines and B-list rock stars on tour busses.

Jenny had never told her new lover about the things she’d had
to do to. That woman was dead. She’d been reborn into a new world where her
past meant nothing and she could create the future she knew she deserved.

The moment she’d laid eyes on Sergei Markov on her first
night in Talbot, she’d known he was her ticket out of life as a drifter. She hadn’t
counted on him being able to transport her mind and body with his big cock and
the magic of the moon.

She didn’t know if he loved her—and that didn’t matter—she was
pretty sure she didn’t love him. One thing was clear—he wanted her
desperately—and that was something she could work with.

Just walking naked with him to the clearing—
their
clearing—was enough to drive her mad. The anticipation of the mystical energy
they were about to share made her pussy throb. She knew that when they were
done, her body would be wrecked, but she would have stolen some of his strength
for her own.

Even as Jenny wondered at the limits of her potential power,
she felt her body ripple and contort as the shift overcame her. The howl burst
from her chest as she smelled his musk and felt his hot erection press into the
small of her back.

So small. So wild.

Sergei stood back on the path, watching Jenny lift her face
to the blazing moon. She seemed to be pulling at its energy. The rays turned
her silky hair nearly white and he followed the curve of her back past the
narrow waist to her tight, round ass.

He tried to probe her mind but was met with static—like a
radio that had been tuned between stations. Early on, he’d wondered if she’d
been shielding her thoughts, but knew that was impossible for one so freshly turned.

It took years of experience to put up such psychic walls,
especially against one as skilled as he was. He had been pack alpha not so long
ago. Reading the minds of his lessers and making them cower beneath his
crushing strength had been a benefit of his position. But this one… this one was
different.

From the moment she’d stumbled into Talbot—like so many
did—freshly bitten and full of anxiety, he’d wanted her. Perhaps it was simply
that he’d been alone for so long. Or maybe he was seeking a fresh start.

Jenny was so willing—that was part of her attraction. He’d
made a vow that he would never take a female by force.

Once, in a moment of weakness, he’d almost done the
unthinkable. He had been frantically clutching to his place as alpha and driven
by moon lust when he’d tried to claim the human consort, Gwen Chaney, as his
own.

An inexplicable fear had overwhelmed him that night and
Sergei had felt an instinctive need to crush the threat he perceived in Gwen.
He would never understand what had happened to him—what had fueled his rage—but
he would die before he let it happen again. Though he’d been pardoned for that
transgression, the shame of it haunted him.

Sergei shook away the memory and focused again on Jenny’s
lithe body. It seemed to vibrate with her volatile energy. She was willful,
untamed and unpredictable—fueling his frustration and his desire.

His attention was drawn to her beautiful backside. Saliva
flooded his mouth as her willowy limbs stretched and the muscles became
hyper-defined. Her delicate fingers morphed into claws and fine golden fur
erupted through her creamy skin.

Jenny widened her stance, trembling as her feet elongated,
the heels sliding up the back of her legs until she balanced on wolfen paws.
The marriage of woman and beast was exquisite.

When Jenny threw back her head and howled, Sergei’s own
transformation was instant and her human shortcomings were extinguished by his
desire. In two long strides the man-beast was pressed against her back, his own
moon cry mingling with hers.

Sergei sank his teeth into her shoulder—not with full force—but
hard enough to sting. The howl ripped from Jenny’s throat and even now, six
months after her change, the savageness of it still surprised her.

“Does it please you, little one?” Sergei growled. His muzzle
was at her ear and his hot breath ruffled her golden fur.

“Yes, baby, it pleases me,” she panted. She dug her claws
into the mossy soil at the edge of the clearing, bracing herself against his
assault. The enormous werewolf curled his elongated fingers around her hipbones
and rammed into her again.

His thick cock filled her completely, stretching her to the
limit between pleasure and pain. As a man, the big Russian had been a
professional basketball player and, after his change, his supernatural strength
was only enhanced by his athleticism.

During moon week, he could fuck her for hours. And he did.
Jenny’s own strength and stamina had increased to degrees she couldn’t have
imagined before, yet these sessions often left her so weak that her mate had to
carry her back to the house.

Before he’d taken her from behind, Sergei had made her come
over and over again. He’d plunged his fingers into her wet pussy and snaked his
long tongue deep inside. He always made sure she was satisfied before entering
her because, once he did, there was no turning back. When they were sexually
joined, a shifted pair fit together like lock and key and couldn’t be separated
until the male reached his climax. The mystical bonding was as real and
unbreakable as a physical one would be.

Alex—their alpha—explained that this love-tie occurred in
all wolves.
Canids
he called them. He’d been a veterinarian before
becoming a big TV star and he always used words like that. It was just one of
the many ways Alex made sure everyone in the pack knew their place. Sergei had
been pack master once and, as far as Jenny was concerned, he still should be.

Steam rose from their sweaty bodies in the cool autumn
night. The fur between Jenny’s lean thighs was already matted with wetness when
he flipped her onto all fours. As ready as she was for him, she still ground
her teeth when he pressed his huge shaft inside.

Every sense was heightened and each time he grazed her
engorged clit, shockwaves radiated from her core and sent fresh juices flowing.
No drug could rival the high she felt during moon week.

Jenny’s slick inner walls registered every steely inch of
him. It was as if she could even decipher every thick vein. His hot breath on
her neck and the musky smell of him flooded her consciousness.

Her muscles quivered and ached and just when she thought she
couldn’t take any more, she lifted her head and focused on the full moon
hovering over the pines. For so many months she’d had to look at it through
iron bars. She’d been locked in the fledgling cave every night of her first
four moon weeks. Bathing in its light out here in the open—with Sergei buried
deep inside of her—was a rush like none other.

The lunar rays washed over her and sent energy coursing
through her cells. Jenny pushed her ass backward to meet Sergei’s animalistic
thrusts. She contracted her inner muscles, squeezing down hard and enhancing
the already snug fit. His pace quickened and his heavy balls slapped at her
engorged clit. The sensation was magical and she felt herself climbing again. Staring
at the huge white orb in the sky, Jenny gave herself over to its power and let
it rip the orgasm from her lithe body. She howled and panted in release.

The rippling spasms shook her so violently that she barely
noticed that Sergei too was reaching climax. It wasn’t until she felt the hot
jets of cum spurt into her and she heard his feral snarls that she understood.
The supernatural tie that had bound them slowly unraveled and Sergei’s cock
slid from her bruised and aching pussy. He flopped on his back and pulled her
against his broad chest. Jenny lightly brushed her claws over his hard muscles.
“You are so fucking strong,” she whispered.

“And you are so beautiful,” he replied.

Jenny listened to his breathing slow and become deep and
even. Looking up into his face, then down his ripped torso and powerful legs,
she watched as he shifted back to human form. The moonlight illuminated his
massive body, casting shadows in the valleys between his defined abs.
Yes.
You are the strongest and I am the hottest.
We
should be this pack’s
alphas.

* * * * *

Gwen Chaney tossed the magazine on the coffee table then
stared at the riot of fall colors on the trees outside the cabin window. After
rereading the first paragraph of the same article four times, she still didn’t
know what it was about. She was too distracted to read—or for that matter—think
straight. It had been six months since Gwen had asked Alex to change her and
she was still waiting. He’d assured her that it wasn’t impossible…

But…

The pack needed her. She understood it was complicated, but
her impatience was growing. In her role as legacy consort, it was Gwen’s birthright—no,
her birth-
obligation
—tousher new werewolves through the early
days of their transformation. The pack held her in the highest esteem, and she was
safer among them than any human walking the earth. She was untouchable. Even so,
she couldn’t help but think that her status was nothing more than an antiquated
designation.

She didn’t really
do
anything. The newly turned were
handed over to her care, but she thought anyone with half a brain could march
the destined—or the doomed, as it were—through the underground tunnel to the
ancient cell, lock the door then look on as they transformed.

After seeing three newborn werewolves through their trials,
as far as she could tell her only real function was to sit outside the thick
iron bars and watch as the change overtook them. Gwen neither interfered with,
nor facilitated, the process. She merely sat on the creaky old rocking chair
and looked on as human became beast. It seemed to her that the pack could have
employed some minimum-wage short-order cook to do the same.

The one thing Gwen was sure of was that she wanted to be on
the other side of the cell door. As violent as the transformations appeared to
be and as wild and uncontrolled as the creatures became, she longed to
experience the magic for herself. Before coming to Talbot, Gwen had never
considered herself the adventurous type, but this place had changed her. She had
seen things that she couldn’t have dreamed existed and now that her eyes had
been opened to the new world, she understood that she was born to be a part of
it. Looking in from the outside was no longer enough.

* * * * *

Six Months Earlier

The last fledgling she’d overseen had been Jenny—the
waiflike neo-flower-child who had been bitten while attending an outdoor
concert in northern Wisconsin. Jenny had made her way to the pack just two days
before moon week and was both frightened and confused to find herself in such
an unbelievable predicament.

By the time the two women had retired to the underground
cell, Jenny had enthusiastically embraced the adventure.

“This is better than tripping on acid,” Jenny had said. Gwen
supposed that the little blonde’s experience with psychotropic drugs had helped
eased the transition.

Jenny and the pack’s former alpha, Sergei Markov, had made
an instant connection and—with Alex’s blessing—were paired as life-mates.

Alex had come to Gwen that night as Jenny lay on the cot,
panting and whining in her sleep. He’d pulled Gwen into the shadows and wrung
every last bit of passion from her body. The session had left her aching and
exhausted. The next morning, she’d asked Alex to let her drink the potion that
would make her like him, but he’d refused.

“The pack needs you, Gwen,” he’d said. “We’ll look for a
replacement, but it won’t be easy. It’s not like I’ve got a file folder stuffed
with resumés for consorts.”

Gwen had lost it. “What’s the difference who does it? A
trained monkey could sit in that fucking rocking chair and do nothing while the
newbies storm around the cell doing their thing! Why do you even need
anyone
there? Couldn’t you just lock the door, hide the key and let them change? It’s
not like they’re going to escape and go on a killing spree!”

She could still remember the look of disbelief on his face
when she’d said that. “Gwen, I assumed you understood. Didn’t your
grandfather’s notes explain why it
has
to be you?”

Gwen stared at the wooden box that lay on the coffee table
beside her unread magazine. The symbol of the werewolf—a spiral within an
inverted triangle—was carved on the lid. The box held her late-grandfather’s
pipes and tobacco and—in a secret compartment—the journal. The thick
leather-bound volume was a handbook of sorts, passed down through generations
of human consorts and filled with notes from those who had held the position
before her.