Owned By The Alphas - The Prequel

T
his is a work of fiction
. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the express written permission of the publisher.

T
he choices we make
, the paths we travel, the things we say no and yes to, the way we choose to live our lives, whether we go after our dreams and yearnings, or don’t…all these things create who we become. It is not written in stone. Every day things can change and
shift,
and we have the power to alter and shape our destiny…but everything that happened before now, brought us to
this
now, this place, this journey.

Before their paths collided in the far reaches of Yosemite National Park, Ali, a human female, and the alpha werewolves Calt and Red had lives, made choices, became who they are.

These are the important days that brought them to an explosion of fate. This is Owned By The Alphas, The Prequel.

J
ared listened
for sounds of her inside the house. He was hidden in the shadows of a prickly hedge laden with soft, pink flowers that smelled like heaven, just outside her bedroom. So soothing, which was exactly what he needed, and why he was there. To be soothed and told that everything was going to be alright. That he wasn’t a monster. Forty-eight hours before, he’d turned into a wolf for the first time, without warning, and without knowing that would ever happen.

He’d never been inside this house–hell, he’d never even talked to her–but he knew this was her room. One look through the window had showed him that it was a teenage girl’s bedroom, and what he knew of Ali Latham was that she lived with her aunt and uncle, and had lost her parents when she was a kid. This room had to be hers with its posters of boy bands and hot pink painted walls with black trim. The curtains were closed and pretty thick, but his eyesight had improved greatly in the last forty-eight hours, and he could see outlines, shapes and colors regardless of the fabric that barred his way.

He’d been waiting a half hour already, for her to go to bed so he could talk to her. What he was going to say, he didn’t know. They were virtually strangers after all. He looked down at his side, at the place his dad had cut with the barrel of the shotgun when he shoved him out of the house, yelling, “Get out! Get out and don’t come back or I’ll kill you!” The gash was covered by a jacket and t-shirt, but he could feel the wetness where the blood dripped down.

The door opened inside and he held his breath. His newly advanced hearing helped him listen and he focused hard, marveling as the soft sound of her heartbeat reached his sensitive aural cavity.
Wow! What am I capable of now?
Then the rattle of the doorknob as she released it. The sound of her jacket dropping to the carpeted floor. Of her shirt lifting up and stroking her smooth arms. Her bra cracking open, the clasp making a sharp click. The lacey fabric hitting the unmade bed with a light thump. Her jeans…the way the zipper unhooked one metal tooth at a time as her sleepy fingers took their time, thinking she was alone.

His heartbeat increased loudly enough that it drowned out hers. A rush of testosterone enveloped him as he considered making himself known to her. Of deflowering her and revealing afterward what he had become. The truth could wait. He’d seen the way she looked at him in school. She would not refuse him…he didn’t think. He could just imagine her soft brown eyes gazing at him as she applied gauze to his wound and promised to hide him there in her room for the night. She would say,
It’ll give you some time to sleep and think of where you can go. I’ll help. It’s going to be alright. I promise, it’s going to be alright.

Her touch would be so welcome. Who cared that they were both only fourteen…

Jared’s raspy breath faltered as pain and shame grabbed him, the image flying before him of his own father yelling, “MONSTER!” when he’d changed in front of the old man’s eyes.

Jared winced and touched the wound in his side.

I can’t tell Ali what I am. What I’ve become. She doesn’t even know me. To her, I’m just some guy from Junior High she stares at sometimes.

Why would she protect me, help me?

What if she screamed?

He closed his eyes, realizing she probably would. How could she not, when she saw a boy’s body suddenly change into a wolf’s?

Werewolves aren’t real. Yeah, right.

Focusing again, he heard his teenage crush tuck herself into the warmth of a fluffy comforter under a safe roof, completely unaware she was not really alone. He pulled off a flower and fingered it, staring as one of the soft petals broke off and floated to the grass.

Where do I go now? How am I supposed to live?

He’d already thought of telling his friends, but that thought got shoved into the land of impossibilities. Garrett, Liam and Connor had no money to give him. He couldn’t stay with them. It would be the first place his father would look if he got a hair up his ass to try! And it’s not like their parents wouldn’t call. They would. And where would he be? He’d seen murder on his dad’s face. He didn’t trust the old man not to try and kill him. He had to get out of San Francisco. He had to run.

Maybe he could find other werewolves to guide him, show him how to live with this…curse? If he existed, then maybe they did, too? They had to! He’d never known werewolves were anything but myth and legend until he’d turned. He’d never known, and now it was everything.

After a few sad moments of listening to Ali’s heartbeat, Jared rested the flower on the window pane, and left, blending into San Francisco’s city streets as he headed north. On human legs, he trudged up Fillmore Street to Lombard. Even under the burden of disappointment and heartache he felt more alive than he ever had. It was a strange dichotomy. Though his spirit was weak, his body felt stronger, his senses more aware. The world was a kaleidoscope of colors he’d never seen before. The quaint Victorian architecture, the shrubs, and the stars in the cloud-dotted sky–all stunning. Not only them; even the neon signs on businesses were glowing beauty now. But he couldn’t revel in it. He would never again call this place home. He closed his heart to it.

Grandpa, why aren’t you here so I can talk to someone? Why’d you have to go and die?

I need you!

He found himself on Lincoln Boulevard heading for the Golden Gate Bridge. It was like Marin County was calling him. With the majority of its population being Liberal, there might be someone who would take in a runaway needing food and a place to stay for a night. He would lie about his name and origin, and then before they had a chance to call the police or social services, Jared could take off and keep traveling until it seemed safe to stop.

So much for starting high school. So much for a normal life. But fuck it! Who wants normal? Not me. I’ve never been like that. Grandpa knew. He knew…didn’t he? Did he know I was going to be a wolf? Is that what he meant when he said…

With his mind spinning, he stepped onto the sidewalk of the Golden Gate, the one usually covered with tourists. It was empty now, because of the late hour. Thick fog drifted just below the base like clouds that had lost their nerve. He walked until he was halfway across the bridge, and stopped to stare down over it, taking a moment to say goodbye to his city. The lights twinkled in the distance and when he couldn’t look at them anymore, he lowered his gaze to watch the fog below him grow dense then fade then grow again, a servant to the winds of The Bay.

Aloud, he considered the possibilities. “How do I find others like me? How do I recognize them? They sure are good at keeping secrets, since no one knows they…we…exist.” A gust blew up and took his breath away. Jared squinted into it, watching the fog thicken. An idea occurred to him and with a bit of excitement, he muttered, “Maybe if I go where wolves
are
, some won’t be
real
wolves. Maybe some will be…”

“You talking to yourself, kid?”

Jared turned with a start and saw a man of around forty-five walking toward him. The hair on Jared’s neck rose at the look in the man’s hard eyes. What was he doing out here? There were hardly any cars on the road, and no pedestrians save for the two of them. Was he a tourist?

“Nah. I wasn’t,” Jared lied, hoping he hadn’t been heard.

One side of a thin lip pulled up as the man countered, “You’ve been told not to talk to strangers, haven’t you? Don’t worry. I’m not a bad guy.”

Jared didn’t answer, not even with a nod.

“I’ll take that as a yes. I’m Ron.” Stopping a comfortable distance away, Ron held out a rough hand. Jared caught sight of dirt under the nails. His nostrils flared as he took in the scent of not one man, but two. The guy made an amused, sardonic noise as his handshake was not received. He held it out, suspended there in the silence until Jared shifted his weight. The guy was a couple inches taller than him and wider thanks to his years. Jared was taller than most boys his age, but he still had some growing to do.

“Look man. I don’t mean to be rude, but I want to be alone.”

The arm dropped and the hand got stuffed in a mechanic’s coat pocket. The white patch with blue lettering came into view for the first time, and it read: Bobby. Not only was this guy’s name supposed to be Ron, but no way was he a Bobby. Bobby’s are cool. Friendly. Trustworthy. So where was the owner of that jacket?

Ron–if that was his name–turned his head to look out at the rising fog, now a dense blanket that crawled over the side-railing like creepy fingers coming to get them both. Ron sucked on his lips and thought for a minute, then nodded. “Sorry to have bothered you. Just thought maybe you needed a friend.”

A shudder ripped through Jared at the words. He felt an unfamiliar rumbling in his veins. He didn’t know what it was at first, something wanting to break free, a desire to explode and lash out. Then he realized it was his wolf. Just a couple days old, this wolf, and they hadn’t had time to get acquainted or learn each other’s triggers. Apparently his wolf didn’t like weird, creepy men.
Good wolf, good boy.

“I have enough friends, but thanks,” Jared answered, ice-cold, holding the leash tight on his inner beast.
Down, boy, down.

Ron cocked his head and a flicker passed over his eyes. Starting on his way, he muttered, “Sorry, kid. I didn’t mean anything by it.”

Moving to let the man go by, Jared exhaled and relaxed his shoulders. Then he heard the rushing of fabric. He gasped as fingers grabbed his throat and squeezed hard into his windpipes. His eyes bugged out under the pressure. He searched the area for help, gasping and coughing for air as they struggled. The last car to drive by was distant red taillights now. A guttural snarl ripped from Jared’s lungs as his fingernails lengthened. He cut into the older man’s skilled grip, inspiring a loud grunt but no release. Jared stomped the man’s feet with his own, fighting him off. And just before the world blurred into unconsciousness, he unleashed his wolf.

“What the hell?” The man shouted, jumping back as the shift happened.

Ron, or whoever he was, was Jared’s first kill.

With blood on his lips and teeth, his clawed paws became hands so that he could search the man’s pocket’s for cash. He shoved the money in his mouth, tossed his torn clothes over the side of the bridge into the water, and shifted fully back to wolf to get the hell out of there as quickly as he could. Five hundred thirty-two dollars wasn’t the last stolen money he’d ever have, but it was the most from one take.