His Forbidden Mate: Hiding the Alpha's Secret Heir

The Alpha’s Prisoner

The snow was chilling, yet the Alpha with me was the inferno on its feet.

Dominic did not even give me an opportunity to retaliate. Then before I could digest his horrifying discovery about my smell he picked me up off the ice and into his huge hands. He rose with a lightness which felt like a feather, and held me against his naked blistering breast.

"Put me down!" I screamed, banging my fists on his great shoulders. I swear to God, Dominic, lay me down!

He did not pay any attention to me. His jaw was set, and a muscle twitching in his cheek was furious in him as he bore me back to the great iron doors of the mansion. His eyes were silver, and they looked in a straight line, and had a possessive, undiminished darkness. He was not only taking me in as a prisoner, but a prisoner of war.

Marcus had already stood at the great door, with the heavy doors open.

Alpha, giant, Beta looked at my struggling body, and said, Alpha.

"Lock down the perimeter. Level four, Dominic barked and walked past him into the huge foyer. Nobody in. and empty the guest wing. Miss Hart won't be needing her allotted room any longer.

Panic seized my throat. "What? No! The will distinctly indicated that I possess my own quarters!

The will said that we must live under the same roof, and Dominic, bringing me up the grand and sweeping staircase of marble, sounded like a deep-throated growl of a voice. "It didn't specify which room."

He did not pass through the east wing at all, but bore me down the dimly-lit, luxurious passage of the private chambers of the Alpha. He kicked aside a pair of massive carved oak doors, and bore me inside, banging them behind us with a thunderous crash.

In the master suite we were.

It had been huge and terrifying, and had reeked of him--crushed winter pine, dark musk and the crackling ozone of raw power. The moonlight was blocked by heavy velvet curtains, and a big, king-size bed occupied the center of the room.

Dominic didn't take me to the bed. He walked straight into the adjacent master bathroom, a spacious room of dark slate and frosted glass. He placed me on the side of the large marble wash-table.

My teeth were shaking like crazy. The silk robe and sleep shorts were wet with liquefied snow, and stuck to my icy flesh like ice.

Domic caged me in between my knees. The animalistic rage of the kitchen was gone, and in its place was cold and calculating and frighteningly erotic power. He touched him, his huge, rough hands holding the lapels of my wet robe.

Take it off, he said, softly.

Don't touch me, I spat, and wrapped my arms around my chest and shivered.

You freeze, Sophie, take it off or I will tear it off, I vowed, and my silver eyes glowed with a dark excitement of lust and power. You will no longer run away with me, you will no longer hide. You will hereafter sleep in my bed and eat at my table and you will not breathe without my leave until you can tell me where my son is.

"He's not yours!" I told a lie, and I was shaking.

Domic turned as black as Black. He unlaced the belt of my robe in one quick decisive movement, and pushed the wet silk off my shoulders. The cloth had gathered about my waist. I uttered a gasp, and my hands flew up to shield my person, but he gripped my wrists in one giant hand, and fastened them to his breast.

His hot skin flashing on my cold knuckles made me breath hitch. He bent, his coarse stubble brushing the tender part of my neck.

I know his name is Ethan, whispered Dominic against the beating of my heart, and the passion of his breath came like a lightning-bolt, and struck down to my very heart. I know where you took him over to Brooklyn, I have the best trackers on the eastern seaboard cutting this city to pieces just now. I will find him, little bird. And when I find him I will bring him home.

A drop of tears fell on my face, a sort of absolute defeat and physical betrayal. There was a humming and a singing in my body, the mate bond that there was war between us.

He freed me and took a big, soft black towel off the heated rack. He took it and wrapped it carefully round my shivering shoulders, but instead of being as he had been, dominant, he changed to excruciatingly gentle. He drew me to his bosom, and buried his face in my wet hair, and sniffed of my motherhood.

Sleep, he said, taking me up again. You will require your manliness.

He took me to the bedroom and laid me down in the middle of the huge king bed. He threw me one of his huge dark grey t-shirts, and huffed his back long enough to allow me to take off my wet garments and tug it over my head. My shirt swallowed me, and smelled of him so bad it made my inner wolf whine in despair.

I lay curled up like a ball on the extreme edge of the mattress, tired, frightened, and in a corner. The final sensation I experienced before the sheer force of fatigue dragged me down was that the mattress was sinking beneath his great bulk, and an arm tremendous in size and strength, was slung around my waist, and drew my back against his scalding chest.

By the time my eyes were open, the sun was shining through a slit in the thick velvet curtains.

I was left to myself in bed. The place beside me was vacant, yet still warm in undying heat.

I sprang to my feet, kicking the jumbled silk sheets aside. My thoughts flew to Ethan. I needed my phone. I had to tell Mrs. Higgins that Dominic was aware of Brooklyn. I swung my legs into the bed and the oversized t-shirt fell on one arm.

Before my feet could hit the floor, the heavy oak doors of the bedroom violently burst open.

I leaped into the air, holding on to the shirt collar.

Camille was in the doorway.

She was wearing a sharp, scarlet designer suit to kill in, her blonde hair blown out. But her beautiful face was made a mask of pure, unadulterated venom. Her gaze flitted back and forth between the shabby bedclothes of the Alpha bed, and the baggy t-shirt I was wearing, and then to my face.

It was deathly quiet. The atmosphere was filled with deadly, female anger.

You nasty, sickening little bum, you, Camille hissed, and walked into the room, banging the door.

Get out of here, Camille, I said, and stood my ground, although my bare legs and the hideous helplessness of being in his clothes. "This has nothing to do with you."

Nothing to do with me? With a wild, maniacal laugh she walked towards the end of the bed. I shall be the future Luna of this pack! I am his fiancée! and you believe you can crawling out of the gutter rejoin me in his bed to steal my empire?

I did not request to be in this room! I swore, my patience having gone straight off.

"Oh, I know you didn't." The sneer on Camille became a vicious triumphant smirk. She put her hand into her costly handbag and gradually drew out a well-known, smooth silver item.

My cell phone.

All the blood drained from my face. I left it lying on the bedside table in the guest room last night in my panic.

Camille tapped her perfectly manicured fingernails against my phone screen, purring, "Dominic feels he has everything under control, thinks he does, that is, Camille. But his security guards are so readily purchased. I got one of them to bring me this out of your old room this morning.

She leaned the screen to me. My heart sank down in my chest.

Displayed brightly on the locked screen was a text message notification from Mrs. Higgins.

Sophie, there is something wrong. Miller Academy: a man who claimed to be the father of Ethan phoned requesting his records. What do I do?

Camille lowered the phone, and her eyes glowed with pure, annihilating malice.

A six-year-old boy in Brooklyn, by the name of Ethan Miller, whispered Camille, her smile something indeed demoniacal.

Now, why do I feel that were I to send this little bit to the wrong side... that bastard child was not going to live to see the sunset?