Runaway Luna:Hunted By The Biker Alpha

Found You!

Torin Pov

I reached the top of the basement stairs and stepped into the main clubhouse. The bar area was packed tonight. Heavy bass from the corner jukebox vibrated the floorboards, mixing with the loud talk of the New Guard and the sharp clink of

beer bottles.

I ignored all of it and walked straight behind the long, scratched bar, grabbing a bottle of cheap, hundred-proof whiskey. I didn't bother with a glass right away. I drank straight from the bottle, welcoming the harsh burn as it slid down my throat.

Grizz walked up to the opposite side of the bar, resting his forearms on the sticky wood. He didn't ask for a drink. He just watched me with those dark, calculating eyes, taking in the rigid line of my shoulders.

"You look like a corpse, brother," he noted, his voice a low, gravelly rumble that barely carried over the music.

"Feel like one," I muttered.

I finally grabbed a hglass tumbler and poured a generous amount. My chest was tight, the familiar, suffocating grip of the curse wrapping around my lungs. My father words from the basement were still ringing in my ears.

I gripped the edge of the counter with my free hand as another sharp, stabbing pain seized my chest. I was dying. And my wolf was completely, hopelessly numb to it.

Then, the door at the end of the hall swung open. A gust of damp, rainy air swept into the clubhouse.

I didn't look up at first. Pack members came and went all night. But a second later, the air pressure in the room seemed to shift.

A scent hit the back of my throat. It wasn't the cloying, suffocating smell of Vanya’s perfume that had been making me gag downstairs. It smelled like summer rain, cheap motel soap, and something else. Something warm, sweet, and

entirely consuming.

It wasn't the faint, underdeveloped scent of the eighteen-year-old girl I remembered. It was fully bloomed, rich and

intoxicating, hitting my senses right away.

Inside my chest, the wolf that had been sick and dying for five years suddenly roared to life.

He slammed against my ribs so hard I staggered, my boots scraping harshly against the floor. My vision edged in predator gold. The dull ache in my heart vanished instantly, replaced by an overwhelming, primal obsession that demanded I hunt.

The loud chatter in the bar started dying down. One by one, bikers stopped talking, turning to look at the entrance. The silence rippled across the room until the only sound left was the low hum of the jukebox and the rain pouring outside.

I turned around.

Harlow Kincaid was standing in the doorway.

She was soaking wet. Her dark hair was plastered to her cheeks, her cheap clothes clinging to her shivering frame. The soft, naive teenager who used to look at me with wide eyes was gone. In her place was a woman who looked exhausted, defensive, and pushed to the absolute edge. But she was here. And she was real. The ghost that had haunted my every waking moment for five years was standing in my clubhouse.

I couldn't breathe. My grip on the whiskey glass tightened until my knuckles turned stark white.

Then, she shifted her weight.

And my gaze dropped to the bundle in her arms. It was a child. A little boy.

His small face was buried in her neck, his skin flushed a dark, feverish red. He let out a wet, rattling cough, turning his head just enough for the dim bar lights to hit his face.

My world stopped completely.

He was panting, his eyes flashing a violent, unstable wolf-gold as he fought against his human frame. But beneath the gold, I saw them. Storm-gray irises. The exact same eyes that stared back at me in the mirror every morning.

My blood. My son.

The thick whiskey glass slipped from my hand and hit the floor, shattering into dozens of pieces, splashing liquor across my boots. But I didn't feel nor hear it.

I stalked out from behind the bar.

The men in the room scrambled to get out of my way, knocking over chairs and barstools to clear a path. They could feel the shift in the air. They could feel the Alpha completely losing his grip on his humanity.

"What the hell is this?"

Silas’s booming voice echoed from the basement doorway. I didn't stop walking, but I saw him out of the corner of my eye as my father stepped into the bar, Vanya trailing right behind him.

He took one look at Harlow and went entirely still. His face drained of color, his jaw clenching so hard I heard his teeth grind together over the music. He recognized her instantly. And he saw the boy.

"You have some nerve showing your face here," he snarled, recovering his composure quickly. He stepped forward, trying to cut off my path to her. "You abandoned this pack, human. You insulted this club. Grizz! Throw this trash out the front gates before—"

"Shut your mouth," I growled. My voice didn't even sound human. It was a low, vibrating threat that made several of the younger bikers take an involuntary step backward.

My father froze, his eyes darting between me and Harlow, panic finally bleeding through his composed expression.

Vanya was standing near the stairs, watching me with wide, furious eyes. She wasn't looking at Harlow; she was looking at me. She saw my chest heaving, and saw my fangs dropping over my bottom lip. She was witnessing the "broken, defective" wolf she had just mocked downstairs coming fiercely alive for another woman.

I ignored them both and kept my eyes locked on Harlow.

She stood her ground and didn't back away one bit toward the door. She just tightened her grip on my son, her chest rising and falling rapidly as I crossed the final few feet of the room. I could see the terror in her eyes, but she lifted her chin, daring me to do my worst.

I stopped mere inches from her. She had to tilt her head back to look up at me. The scent of her panic and desperation was rolling off her in waves, clashing with the intoxicating smell of her blood. My wolf didn't care about the past five years. It didn't care that she ran. It only cared that she was finally within my reach.

I lifted a shaking hand and instead of reaching for her throat, I placed my palm on the back of her neck, my fingers sliding into her wet hair, pulling her and the boy against my chest.

She let out a sharp gasp, her free hand coming up to press against my leather cut, but she didn't push me away. The heat of my son’s fever burned against my stomach.

"Mine," I growled, the sound ripping out of my throat, loud enough for every single person in the club to hear.

I turned my head, glaring over my shoulder at my father, at Vanya, and at the dozens of bikers watching us in stunned silence.

"Lock the front gates," I ordered, my voice leaving no room for argument. I looked directly at Silas, letting my wolf seep completely into my tone. "Nobody leaves. And if anyone dares looks at them wrong, I will tear this clubhouse down to the foundation."

Without waiting for a response, I shifted my arm, wrapping it securely around Harlow’s waist, and dragged her toward the heavily guarded hallway that led to my private rooms. She wasn't running from me ever again.