Not Your Plaything, Alpha

KIRA "I want you to f**k my Luna." Those words came through the crack of the door and found me standing on the other side with a glass of wine between my fingers. I had been smiling seconds before. The kind of smile you wear when you come home from war and believe that the people waiting for you are the people you bled for. I was wrong. My fingers stopped moving. The glass trembled in my hand. I stood frozen behind the door of my own pack house, listening to a voice I had known almost all my life. Elvis. My Elvis. My husband. The Alpha King of our pack. I told myself I was mistaken. Maybe the wine had gone to my head. Maybe the fatigue from battle was playing tricks on my hearing. But I could never mistake Elvis's voice. I had heard it almost all my life. Memorized it. Lived by it. Carried it inside me like a second heartbeat. And his scent. Goddess, that scent was right there, thick and unmistakable, seeping through the door like smoke. "But Alpha, how would I do such a thing?" Bowen's voice followed. He was Elvis's gamma. A man I had trusted with my life on more than one battlefield. "Luna Kira would kill me before I get close to her." "Don't worry about that." Elvis sounded calm. Too calm. The way he always sounded when he had already made a decision and nothing in this world could undo it. "I have given her an aphrodisiac laced with silver. Her body will go weak anytime soon and she will beg to have a d**k in her." He said those words the way a man orders his breakfast. No stutter. No hesitation. No shame. Like it was a normal thing to say. Like it was a normal thing to do to the woman who had just fought a war for him. My body went cold. Not from fear. From something deeper. Something that starts in your bones and spreads outward until even the warmth in your fingers dies. I looked at the almost finished wine in my glass and my chest tightened. No. No no no. How could he? Elvis had poured me that glass himself. I had walked into the pack house with my palms still raw from the fight against the dragon clans. Bruised. Cracked. Still wearing my blood soaked clothes. And he had smiled at me. Handled the glass with those gentle hands. Handed it to me like a reward. I had been thirsty. I had been happy. I had drunk it without suspicion. Without a single thread of doubt in my heart because he was my mate. My Alpha. The one person in this world who was supposed to protect me. And now I understood. I had trusted too much. But why? Why would Elvis do this to me? What kind of man finds pleasure in watching another man take his Luna? Is this a wild fantasy or is this madness? My fingers clutched the stem of the glass. My knuckles turned white. I held the doorknob and every muscle in my body was ready to kick that door open and confront him. To drag him out by his throat and make him say those words to my face. Then my wolf stirred inside me. It started at the pit of my stomach. A heat. Slow at first. Like a coal catching fire. It climbed through my spine, spreading through my ribs, reaching down between my thighs with a hunger that made my breath catch. I pushed away from the door. My legs nearly buckled. I could not understand what was happening to my body. Or maybe I did understand. I was just too afraid to admit it to myself. Elvis had poisoned me. My mate. My Alpha. The man I had gone to war for. Is this his new way of appreciating me for going to war? For our pack? Tears burned behind my eyes. I refused to let them fall. Not now. This was no time for pity party tears. My claws extended from my palms. I shredded the war clothes off my body, tearing through fabric stiff with dried blood and sweat. My skin still reeked of the battlefield. The lives I had taken with my sword and arrow clung to me like a second skin. I turned to my wardrobe. Empty. Where had all my expensive Luna dresses gone? The ceremonial robes. The gowns. Gone. All of them. I did not have time to wonder why. The only thing left hanging on the rail was a thin blue nightgown. I pulled it on. It barely covered my chest. I did not care. All I wanted was out of here. I could not bear the thought of Bowen's hands on my body. The image of it alone made my stomach turn. Without thinking twice I pushed the wall frame holding the pictures of my ancestors to the side. It fell with a crash and broke into three. My heart almost fell with it. Those portraits. Those women. The wolves who built this pack. The Lunas who carried this title before me. Broken on the floor like I was about to be. But there was no time. "Honey?" Elvis called from outside the door. His voice was warm. Casual. Like nothing had happened. I did not respond. I could not. I climbed into the secret narrow passageway behind the wall. It was tight and cold and smelled of old stone. I squeezed my body to fit through. My shoulders scraped the walls. My breath came in short shallow bursts. The moment my feet touched the floor on the other side, I ran. I ran like my entire existence depended on it. Because it did. I burst out of the pack house into the woods. No car. Going to the garage would ruin my escape. I could hear the howls of guard wolves returning from patrol. The day was dying. Shadows stretched across the trees like long black fingers pulling the forest into darkness. I was not looking where I was going. Branches cut at my arms and legs. My feet slipped on wet leaves. I ran blind and desperate and terrified and burning all at once. I stumbled into an abandoned cabin at the edge of the territory. I could not risk being seen this way. Half dressed. Drugged. Reeking of musk. If any wolf caught me in this state it would become the talk of the century. Every pack on the island would hear about it before sunrise. I grabbed the knob on the cabin's entrance and pulled. Lucky for me it was not locked. I ran in and shut the door behind me. My body was shivering. My teeth clenched so hard my jaw ached. I pressed my thighs together but it did not help. Wetness slipped down my legs. The scent of my own musk filled the dark room and there was nothing I could do to stop it. I dug my nails into the door behind me. Hate and shame and need all twisting inside me at once. I hated Elvis. I hated my body. I hated that even now, even after everything, my body was betraying me harder than my husband ever had. Strong arms wrapped around my waist from behind. I gasped. I twisted. I pulled. The hands held me firm. "Who are you?" a voice groaned. He turned me around. My face hit something solid. A chest. A wall of muscle. I traced my palms across it blindly in the dark. Warm skin. Tight muscle. A heartbeat hammering beneath my fingers. Then my fingertips found it. A scar. Raised and rough. Sitting right at the center of his chest. Thick enough to tell me that whatever had put it there had tried to kill him. I could not get his scent. It was mixed with something. Alcohol. Strong. The kind that hangs on a man who has been drinking alone in the dark. "What are you doing?" The question left my mouth in pieces. He lifted his head and sniffed the air. "Holy hell." His voice dropped low. Rough. "Is that coming from you?" "Y... yes," I breathed. My body was begging for his touch before my mind could catch up. I could not see his face. But his voice. Goddess, that voice. It moved through me like warm water finding every broken place. "Please," I whispered. Against every ounce of judgment I had left. Against every voice in my head screaming that I was standing in a dark cabin with a stranger whose face I had never seen. "Please take me." I pressed myself against him. My body moved on its own. Grinding against him. Offering what I could not stop offering because the drug had taken the choice out of my hands. He did not speak. He did not ask questions. He lifted me off the floor like I weighed nothing. My legs wrapped around him on instinct. I was trusting myself to a stranger in the dark and I did not care. I could not care. The fire inside me had burned through every wall of reason. He took a few steps forward. His arm swept across something. Bottles crashed to the floor. Glass and liquid scattering in the dark. He had been drinking. Good. At least one of us was not doing this sober. He lowered me onto something wooden. A table. The cold surface pressed against my back. He spread my legs apart and settled his weight between them. My fingers found his shoulders. I dug in. His lips found mine. He kissed me like he was starving. His tongue swept through my mouth and I felt the last thread of my senses snap. A moan tore from my lips. I could not hold it. I did not try. He answered with a moan of his own. "Gods, I can't stop kissing you." His zipper came undone in the dark. Something hard pressed against the entrance of me. I inhaled sharply. He trailed kisses down my neck. His breath hot and uneven on my skin. Then he pushed in. My body froze. Every nerve in me lit up. The stretch was sharp and deep and overwhelming. I gasped against his shoulder. My fingers dug into his skin hard enough to leave marks. Then he moved. Slow at first. Each thrust deliberate. He angled my legs over his shoulders and drove deeper. My back arched off the table. My mouth fell open. No sound came. Just breath. Just heat. Just the wet sound of our bodies meeting in the dark. Then he went harder. And faster. But somehow softer at the same time. His hands gripped my hips. He pulled me to him with each thrust like he could not get deep enough. I felt him at the edge of my womb. My walls tightened around him. My body shattered. The orgasm ripped through me without warning. I clenched around him and shook beneath him. My legs trembled on his shoulders. My fingers went limp against his skin. He groaned. A deep broken sound. His hips stuttered. Then I felt him spill inside me. Hot. Thick. His grip on my hips tightened as he buried himself to the hilt and held still. We stayed like that for a moment. Two strangers in the dark. Breathing hard. Neither one of us able to let go. I closed my eyes. And in the silence between our breaths, I felt something I was not prepared for. His scent. It was not human.