Homecoming Luna

Chapter 5: Play Dirty

• •• •••Merlara's POV••• •• •

I am in the process of lining up my next shot when I notice I have company. The same company that's been coming to watch me train but never gets close. A company I've come to welcome, and makes my pulse go crazy.

Alpha Daen!

Sometimes I notice him seconds long after he's been there even with my enhanced senses and on those days, I work myself extra hard. Not liking the fact it shows weakness, but no matter how hard I try he always one ups me with his stealth approaches.

Usually, I would feign ignorance. Pretend I didn't hear him like every other time. It's not like I could acknowledge him as he always stays well out of greeting distance. And something tells me he knows that I know and he just doesn't care.

But this time, I could not ignore him not when he's walking towards me.

I turn to watch him approach.

The masculine grace with which he holds himself, all 6'4 of him, when he moves is captivating. Similar to the menseful accuracy with which he handles everything he does.

There is this obvious air of authority that emanates from him in folds. He is the kind of man others follow, not because he says so but because they undoubtedly trust him. He has that effect on people.

I hate that I've come to anticipate him monitoring my private trainings.

One time, I even tried to put on make-up, nothing too obvious. I'd already sat down on my tiny vanity before I'd gotten a hold of myself. Who was I kidding? I am just some pathetic little 'slave' he won at war.

When he gets close, I stop what I'm doing and greet him with a little head bow. "Alpha."

He's in black just as I am. But unlike the black trainee uniform I almost always wear, he is in black low slung jeans and grey moc toe boots with a black t-shirt that stops snug against his bulging biceps to reveal his heavily tatted arms. Unlike his left arm, his right arm from the back of his hand is tattooed only to the elbow.

He gives me a nod which causes his chestnut brown hair—longer in the front—to move with the motion.

"Carry on." He replies in his signature deep, serene voice.

And I carry on, extra aware of him.

After some time and out of nowhere, my stupid mouth suddenly thinks it's cool to wistfully say, "One of those men," I don't need to clarify. He knows I'm referring to the wounded men he ordered me to Absolve their memories weeks ago.

"He was rejected by his mate and had just found his second mate and she is expecting twins. Two boys." I inform him, even though he may not care.

The man had a mating tattoo on the back of his hand which is how we know our mates. Usually after a wolf call on a full moon, my kind gets a matching mate tattoo of our mate's name once they're of age. The connection is there but the tattoo cinches it after which comes the marking and claiming. And the tattoo location varies.

I stiffen, my spine going ramrod straight at Alpha Daen's tone.

"I clearly told you to take just their fight skills," he says in this icy venomous voice, each word crystal and resounding.

Goose bumps careen across my tan arms, making me stand up straighter which in turns causes the arrow I've drawn to shoot and miss its mark.

He steps forward and I shuffle back. His hard eyes and the expression on his face makes me gulp audibly.

"I—I did." I quickly say in a sombre voice. "The memory was heavily attached to what drives him to fi—what drove him to fight."

A heavy silence descends.

"Enough talking." He harshly breaks the unceremonious quiet. "Now, show me what you've got."

He walks a couple yards away and turns his back to me as cue.

I abandon my bow and arrow sachet to the damp forest ground.

I think and think carefully about how to maneuver him. It's tricky because he's all strength and masculine with ofcourse, years worth of experience. I keep that in mind while trying to harness my own advantages.

Then in a blur of black, I attack. But before I can make contact, he effortlessly grips me by my attacking arm which is extended and the next thing, my back is up against a tree bark. All done within a blink of an eye.

"Too slow," is what he growls at me. "Your problem is you think too damn much."

I snarl low, my breath coming in heaves.

I attack again, trying to take him unawares. But he just evades me and grabs my arms in a harmless but firm hold like it's child's play. He actually appears bored.

Not giving up, I keep at it.

I manage to propel us forward through the air and onto the ground and up on our feet again as he—with liquid ease—sidesteps my myriads of fast punches. Not sustaining even a scratch from my claws.

Before I know it, he has my back against yet another tree, bigger this time as he cages me against it. His body flush against my own as his large hand firmly grips my throat holding me immobile.

I struggle still, chest heaving. But he doesn't give me an inch.

I find myself focusing so much on the dip of his cupid's bow, his full lower lip and how his long lashes compliments his angular brows well. And how his eyes are not really as black as I thought. There is a colour swirling in there. Fascinating.

Then I look at his perpetually messy hair and his sexy as hell sand-rough stubble. I unconsciously bite my lips and I'm quite sure I hear him growl low and deep.

Now, what makes me ask the question is beyond me as I lift my eyes to his.

"You don't have a mate yet?"

My cheeks heat the moment the words leave my mouth. It's a stupid question. Of course, he doesn't have a mate yet or I would know. Everybody would know. He's the freaking Alpha for full moon's sake!

Then my mouth goes off. "I—I don't mean you're incapable of being ma—mated. Or that you're not good enough or hot because you know . . .well, you are. Oh Goddess, what I mean is—"

"No," Daen says, finally answering my question.

He looks thoroughly amused. A mischievous smile is curling his lips and his rough cheeks has the showings of two dimples. He looks nothing like the bloodthirsty killer I've heard all about.

"Why?" I find myself asking. It takes me back to one those rumours I've heard about him. The one where he may or may not have killed his mate. What he says in answers doesn't exactly help.

With the quiet confidence of someone who is sure of himself and always gets what he wants regardless, he says, "Not just anyone can be mated to me. My wolf has very high expectations."

As he mumbles the words, he deeply inhales my scent so the words were practically etched onto my skin.

Shivers race down my back.

"Hm, sweet mint." He breathes into the crook of my neck. It takes my fried brain a long second and then another to realize he's referring to the scent of my shampoo.

I feel, more than see him lightly nip at the sensitive flesh of my neck.

I involuntarily shudder.

I am very aware of each and every inch of him that is plastered against me as our breaths fan each others face.

A part of me is suspended in delicious ecstasy and a part of me is unsure what to do, what comes next. What this means.

I try hard to distract myself by figuring out a less obvious way to maneuver him and win this little fight we have going. One he won't see coming.

So I try to penetrate his mind, insert or twist something in his head. Anything to distract him. But I hit a wall.

A smirk makes its way to his face and he tut-tuts.

"You're gonna have to try harder than that." He says knowingly as he finally, with a groan, reluctantly separate our bodies to move a couple feet, his back once again turned to me.

And so I do. I try harder. I try something else. He has a strong wall around his mind but I spy a tiny crack and so I exploit it.

With all my might, I project the first very explicit images that come to me through the tiny crack.

One of his hands hold two of mine captive and him, all hard muscles and sweaty as he hungrily plunges into me from behind.

"Daen," I squirm in pleasure and mewl his name as he reaches down to give me a biting kiss, his ravenous eyes glowing a deep shade of uncanny purple.

He flips me over with supernatural speed and grabs my throat in a firm grip as he claims me with even stronger thrusts as I gasp for air.

I notice the moment he processes the mental image I've just sent and with that I whoosh through the air and topple him to the ground.

His back hits the the ground, with me on top of him and my legs cradled in-between his.

I chuckle, proud that I took him unaware, only for something to click. My little smirk of victory disappears. I hadn't. I hadn't taken him unaware. I remember with clarity the tiny twitch he made when I advanced. He knew I was coming long before my feet left the ground yet he let me take him.

He let me win.

Still on him, the last couple of seconds finally register. The enormity of what I've just done.

How desperate was I to trump him that I'd sent him that? How blatant could I be? For that alone, he could have my head off my neck in a heartbeat. I've seen him do away with men for less. My eyes widen to the size of saucers.

"I'm so sor—" Terrified, I open my mouth to apologize only to freeze when I catch the sizzling look in his eyes.

I suck in a sharp breath as we stare into each other's eyes for palpable moments. My face feels really hot as I replay the images I projected at him. The way his hooded eyes are looking at me right now makes my cheeks flame hotter.

Definitely sensing where my thoughts are at, he makes a low gutteral sound deep in his throat. Sexiest sound ever. My new favorite. His eyes become a swirling pool of molten purple.

"You're gonna be fuckin' sorry you made me see that."

I feel his mind-linked words and the rumble of his groan as I involuntarily do a squirm against him. A particular part of my body shamelessly thrums with heat. Be his words a threat or promise, my body likes it. A lot.

We stay this way for a long heated moment before his eyes suddenly go hard and out loud, he says, "Don't you dare!"

Somehow, I know he's not talking to me because his voice has hardened to grit, which contradicted the commanding but soft tone he usually speaks to me with.

Still, my eyebrows knit in confusion.

"Shoot her and I'll fuckin' have your bones." He threatens in a blood-chilling tone.

Whatever confusion I feel dissipates as a group of four military men dressed in Pack-house Unit uniforms materialize from behind the thicker trees. At his command, they lower their tautly drawn silver arrows. They must've been ticked off when I toppled him. I wonder if they've been there the whole time, just hanging back.

I scramble, trying to stand up only to smack back into his chest as a result of his large hands gripping my waist. I let out an "Ooomf!"

I feel his muscles flex beneath me.

"Hold still," he breathes into my face.

What?

"Hold still."

He heard that? I'm quite sure I didn't speak.

"Can you hear that?"

Of course, I can hear. I can hear his seductive voice. I can also hear the sound of my heart going bonkers in my chest. But I doubt that's what he asked about so I reply, "No, I don't hear anything."

"Just focus. Listen."

I almost heave a nervous laugh. I am lying here face front on him, on all hard plains of him. Even if I try, there's no way in hell I could focus.

Still, I shut my eyes and attempt to get my breathing under control all the while aware of him and the little audience we now have.

I fine tune my focus and that's when I hear it. To the distant east is a faraway music playing, sounding muted but the melody is clear to me.

It's the song I have on repeat on my phone. Listening to it almost everytime. My all-time favorite song. How in the moon goddess's name does he know?

There are a million and one meanings I could read into this. I know. And I'm sure he knows, so what's his deal?

"You gotta smarten up. Try not to take too long to get in tune with your surroundings. Shits like that could get you killed. A nanosecond of noticing things too late and you'd be on your back, swimming in your own blood."

More than what he's saying, his eyes pierce through me.

I know the words are supposed to be chastising but with us this close and pressed against each other, and his warm hands on my waist, I can't help but feel warm all over. Hot, I feel hot all over.

I try to sternly remind my misled heart that we hate him but even my wolf, Bea, isn't on board with me. She purrs. She actually purrs. The b***h!! I'm so f****d.

Hell, I'm in trouble. Deep trouble!