The Alpha's Territory

Chapter 3: Arrival

Emily's perspective:

“Slow down!" I yell over the humming engine of Grant's side-by-side. The soft smirk reshaping his well-groomed, dirty-blonde beard and the cocky gleam in those dreamy, yellow eyes confirms he has no intention of granting my request. He shifts into a higher gear. The jerks and bumps of the dirt path force me to lean against Grant. Gripping tightly with both hands to the muscular arm beneath his red, green, and black flannel sleeve, I feel the pulsing flex of every sharp turn and shift.

As his tawny, shoulder-length hair waves in the passing wind, I can't help but wonder why I couldn't have met this fated, although forbidden, love years ago. Things could have been different. But now, underneath my longing for him, all I can think about is the trouble that will come if Vin finds out we are here.

My brother hates Grant. Jealous is more like it, I think. He hates that Grant is Alpha of the largest territory, is successful, and that he has money. He also despises the concept of taking in rogues—thinks it's sacrilegious, or something. Funny, coming from an Alpha shifter who chooses to sleep solely with and make pets of non-shifters— “Cubbie whores," he calls them. More than anything, I know Vin wants to kill Grant, destroy his pack, and use this land to finally have what he needs to spread his “business." Until now, I hadn't known why my brother refused to come after this Alpha that he has such a disdain for. As my eyes traverse Grant's powerful, human form, I see plainly what has held Vin back.

Grant is the largest wolf I've ever seen, even bigger than my father. Vin is a fierce and dirty fighter, going as far as developing and using a drug he calls Wolfsbane to give himself an edge, but I don't think he would be able to match Grant. No other wolf has ever been a match for Vin. Only the man I am holding onto is not just any wolf.

As soon as Grant burst through the door, it was plain that he would prove to be a difficult Alpha to overcome for Vin, if not impossible for any shifter. Even with the aid of Wolfsbane, Vin would find Grant a force to be reckoned with. And when Grant stood naked in front of me, his full stature bare, I could see that every inch of his brawny human frame, nearly a head taller than Vin, was just as impressive as his shifted form. In every way, Grant is larger than any shifter in the heart of Alaska.

“We're almost there," Grant's voice rises above the ribbing tires.

“Yeah, yeah," I hear the Beta's voice say over the top of my baby sister, Gabby's. “Thank God." I glance over my shoulder to the back seat and see Gabby and Bram. Arms crossed, their eyes glued to the passing greenery, they wear their disgust with one another on their sleeves as they do their utmost to keep from touching.

Suddenly, we burst through the tree line and into open country. On the right is a large, warehouse building. We rush up and over what looks to be a plane runway that leads inside. A couple hundred yards ahead, past a handful of blue spruce and a monumental flag pole waving an unfamiliar banner, is a massive cabin.

It is three stories of cream-colored, Sitka spruce that scale up to a burgundy roof, and from the side of the mansion that I can see, twelve gables, not including the one at the entry. The grand entryway looks like something out of a Cinderella fairytale leading up to a porch whose sprawling structure wraps around the entire first floor. The front porch alone has more square feet than my whole house. Surrounding the front doors is a full wall of windows that piece together in a shape that I think reflects Mount Denali, but I can't be sure. It is magnificent.

Still faster than I'm comfortable with, we drive under the waving, midnight blue flag on which is the silver outline of a wolf's head howling toward the sky. To my surprise, we don't stop at the cabin, but continue on toward a six car garage that connects to the northern wing of the house. One of the bay doors is open and inside it stands a tall, shirtless, shaggy-haired young man waving his hands wildly.

“Slow down!"

Grant still refuses.

“Woah! Woah!" I hear the boy shouting.

Grant pulls hard on the wheel, making the side-by-side fishtail until it skids into the garage. The boy leaps up and grabs onto the railing at the back passenger side, near Gabby. As we come to a stop, the side-by-side tilts up onto two wheels, then slams down. A light cloud of dust blows past us.

“Alright, ladies and gentlemen, welcome to The Den."

Bram is out of his seat and briskly making a b-line through the garage.

“Damn, Grant," says the young boy, “You sure do know how to make an entrance." He hops down from the rail and bends down to dust off his blue jeans and leather boots. Through his jeans I can clearly make out the bulge of his muscular thighs, while the toned, caramel-colored physique that tops them off screams high school quarterback. He reaches up and shakes the dust out of his dark brown hair, when I see his hazel green eyes lock onto Gabby, who I now realize has not broken her stare at him since he pounced on the side of the UTV. Until this moment, he hadn't taken notice of us, and I still seem to be invisible to him.

“Um-um-um. I-I. I didn't know we had company."

Grant climbs out of the driver's side. “Neither did I."

“Austin," the boy says with a thick southern accent, wiping his hand on his pants before extending it toward my sister.

“Gabby," my sister replies with an uncharacteristic gentleness in her voice. She reaches out a hand. Austin clasps it and gives a suave peck. An inkling that this is more than puppy love sends an anxious chill to my core.

“Emily!" I burst out loudly, introducing myself and trying to break the air of awkwardness, though the confused stare of both teenagers lets me know I have only added to it.

“Nice to meet you, ma'am," the boy stammers.

Ma'am? Do I look like a ma'am? I can't be more than five years older than this kid.

Grant comes to my side of the vehicle and holds out a strong, gentlemanly hand. “This way, ma'am," he says with a smirk that assures me he could tell when the boy bestowed this title on me, it ruffled my feathers. “I want to introduce you to the pack. They should all be inside getting ready for dinner." I let Grant help me out of the side-by-side. Beside us, the boy grabs Gabby's hand and helps her out of the UTV.

No sooner do our feet hit the ground than I yank my hand away from Grant. “Excuse us," I say and hurriedly push Gabby outside of the garage. Facing away from Grant and Austin, I lock eyes with my little sister and telepathically communicate what I know is true, yet hypocritical. I'm going to have to eat my own words. “I see what's happening here. We can't get too close. We can only stay here long enough to make a plan or find a way to get out of Alaska. We need to convince them to help us escape. They are a means to an end. That's all. Stick to the plan."

Gabby gives a cliche teenager eye roll.

“Don't give me that sh*t."

“Yes, ma'am," she insolently jabs.

We turn back to the guys. I give a pretentious smile and insist that they lead the way.

Walking through each bay, the boy can't stop talking. “This is a custom racer. Faster than anything else you will see on the streets. It's Bram's personal favorite. Here is the Hummer, Nashville's fave."

Alongside him, Grant moves forward silently, constantly shifting his eyes back to me. Does he feel this? He said he would protect me, but I thought that was just some Alpha bullsh*t, powerplay. His hand drifts back toward me, then jerks back. He did something similar in the cabin.

The boy continues, “These are our bikes. Too many to intro right now. Soon, though."

I want him to look. I want him to touch. But I can't. This can't be. I force myself to stay back far enough not to be taken in by my desires. Besides, I can't let Gabby see. I can't let her know my hypocrisy.

“Ah! And here's my favorite, the custom mudder. Other than the snorkeler, I know it looks pretty standard, but I swear it's not. It's got—"

“Give it a rest, Austin." Grant breaks his silence. “I'm sure the ladies would like to chill. Let's give them a quick introduction to the pack, then I will show them to the open room."

Flustered, Austin nods, then scans Gabby from bottom to top and offers a cocky grin before obeying his Alpha.

The door to enter the house from the garage is a frosted glass with a keypad to unlock it. Grant lifts his hand to lay it on the pad. His hand shifts into a forepaw and he presses down. With a swish like something out of an old science fiction show rerun, the frosted glass slides into the wall.

We walk into a large mudroom. There are four washer and dryer stacks and six upright freezers. Lining the walls are at least a dozen open closets, the kind you see in pro-baseball locker rooms, with a few outfits hanging in each. Along the top of each of these closets are names: LR, Miami, Cleveland, Diego, Nash, etc.

Austin opens a plain, white door that leads into the kitchen and dining area. Grant stands aside and invites us through the door. I guide Gabby in front of me. She keeps her eyes fixed on the ground. Austin peers right through her. I strain to be as faithful as Gabby and keep my gaze forward, away from Grant. As I walk past, I feel his hand graze my arm. A tremor runs up my arm. The rush of temptation is broken when applause of clapping hands and whistles echo around us.

He does feel the pull. He does feel what I feel. He wants to touch me just as much as I want to touch him. But he knows, as I know, this fated love can't be. We have to hide it.

“Grant! Grant! Grant! Grant!" reverberates nearly a dozen voices standing around a huge dinner table.

“Alright. Alright." Grant raises his hands and motions his audience to settle while walking up behind a grand chair, more like a throne, at the head of the table.

As his skin disconnect from mine, my heart drops into my stomach. I don't just want his touch. I need it.

“I see you started without us," he says scanning over the scraps scattered about on the table."

“Sorry. We thought—" a young girl at the far end of the table began to apologize.

“Don't sweat it. We weren't supposed to come back today. You're good."

“Thank you," a surge of gratitude waves around the table.

“Now, I want to say that you should all be proud of yourselves. What we achieved today was a pack effort. You've all played your parts and we will celebrate soon enough." He motions for us to come forward. “But right now I would like to introduce my guests. This is Emily and Gabby."

Other than a few concerned faces and just as many half-smiles, there is no response.

I need no introduction. They know exactly who I am. It is in moments like this that I wish I had the power to shift into something more inconspicuous than a wolf. Better yet, just to be invisible would be nice.

I try my best to unnoticeably creep a little further into my fated mate's shadow, hoping his large frame will grant my wish for invisibility.

Maybe we shouldn't have sought refuge here.