The untamed Alpha and his human mate

Chapter 2: Bought

Clayton

I hadn’t planned on turning up at this small pub tonight. The pub was small, tucked away like it didn’t want to be found, its dim lights flickering against rain-streaked windows.

A storm had been building all evening, the wind whispering through the trees like something alive. I had been at home, practically a castle. The other gods hadn’t known what to do with me, so they made me a castle buried deep in the forest, surrounded by miles of silence and shadows. A prison disguised as a gift and left me there.

I was a werewolf, the father of all werewolves, I suppose you could say. I was where they originated from. I was the one every other wolf could trace their existence back to. Different from the other gods, I left my world as a child, got lost, and ended up on Earth. Yes, even us gods were children once.

I had been confused, afraid. The first human I saw had approached me cautiously, came along to see if I was ok. I didn’t understand, so I bit them, instinct, but one with consequences.

The first human turned, the first werewolf born from me. None of us had known humans could be turned until me. Even now humans still fascinated the gods. Perhaps ‘gods’ wasn’t even completely accurate, maybe ‘deities’ was better, or ‘young gods,’ because there was a bigger, more powerful god than us, one the humans had been worshipping for years to come.

I had never met him, and I didn’t know of any god who had, but he was very much real.

When word got around to the gods about me and the human I had bitten, curiosity spread like wildfire. Mistral the vampire god, tried to do the same thing, then the god of witches, and…you see where I’m going with this?

Rain began to fall harder outside, tapping steadily against the glass, the scent of wet earth drifting faintly into the pub with a breeze every time the pub door opened.

I leaned back against the bar, letting the noise of the room wash over me, laughter, clinking glasses, the low hum of anticipation. I could smell the males’ scent of arousal.

A few human males were here too.

I could pick them out instantly, the way they smelled, the way their hearts beat, fast, fragile.

Weak.

I was only a child when I came to earth. I didn’t have many memories of my old life. I was raised in a foster home, surrounded by their rules, their emotions, their lies. Perhaps that made me more human than god, humans certainly taught me how to be evil just like they were, they taught me cruelty.

When I was fifteen years of age, a man found me wandering the streets, told me he was part of a circus, regaled me with tales of talented and unusual people, got me excited with the idea of a fun life traveling around the country performing for people, painted pictures of a life full of wonder, said they were like a family. Something I craved.

It was all lies. What really happened was that he had seen me shift from wolf to human, instead of the natural reaction a human should have seeing such a sight, he had grown excited, seen an opportunity for his business. I wasn’t a boy to him, I was a spectacle. A product.

The memories still burned.

The smell of sawdust and sweat, the echo of mocking laughter beneath the big tent. The way the lights blinded me while the crowd stared.

Years passed in that hell. I was deep in the circus life but treated cruelly, beaten and tortured if I did not do what they asked of me. I had still been a child, afraid, alone, and so I did as they asked, broken down until obedience was easier than resistance. I performed for audiences across the country, shifting from human to wolf all under the illusion of an amazing trick and nothing more, only my master knew the truth of what I was.

People were cruel, my master was the worst, but even the audience could be cruel, they would laugh and point, sometimes throw things at me as the wolf, others would try to taunt me, it was hell on earth and I found myself growing a burning and deep hatred towards humans, slow, burning, endless.

Thunder rolled in the distance now, low and heavy, rattling the glass behind me, it made one of the females yelp.

I was drawn back to my thoughts. I remembered when my gifts kicked in. While I had always had the ability to shift to wolf form, I hadn’t been able to shift to lycan form until I reached eighteen. Then my heightened senses kicked in along with supernatural strength.

My master had been mocking me about something, I can’t remember now what it was about, but I remember the sound of his voice, the way it grated. It was enough to make me lose control. I snapped, lost in blind rage.

I killed him until he was nothing but torn flesh and silence. And after? I felt free, no remorse, in fact, it had felt good, so good to kill, and I wanted to do it again.

The other circus performers were no different from me, treated cruelly and abused. I wouldn’t harm them, so I set them free, and we went our separate ways. I blended into human life for a while, worked at a call centre, rented a small house.

Perhaps a call centre wasn’t the best way for me to blend in. I didn’t have the patience for the rude and disrespectful callers, I’d argue back, cuss them out as much as they cussed at me. Why my boss never fired me I’ll never know. Ok, perhaps it had something to do with our Friday nights spent in her office, her legs wrapped around my waist with the both of us sweating and naked.

I despised humans, could barely tolerate them. You would never catch me out at a crowded bar or busy restaurants, I’d rather order takeout than be among them. The only exceptions I made were when it came to work. With double the stamina, adrenaline, and testosterone being a werewolf gave, it made us extremely s****l beasts. It was either give in to bloodlust and eat humans or turn it into just lust and f***k a werewolf instead. Less suspicion if I f.ucked.

Females always smelt good, like a b.itch in heat when they were close to their moon time, to us werewolf males, they went into heat, but being human, they were unaware of this. Lucky for me, my boss had been a female werewolf.

When the war broke out, I couldn’t say I was disappointed, I felt that same feeling of freedom, no more hiding what I was. I was on the same page with other supernaturals that we were superior to humans, that we should be the ones ruling the world and not them, that they should be grovelling at our feet.

I helped a pack of werewolves take cities at a time, killed and slayed anyone who got in my way, and it felt better each and every time. The smell of the blood was thick and rich, it made me hard, excited me. The taste of their flesh. The feel of my claws sinking into their soft meat. I admit I got carried away, was violent in my methods, so much so, it scared the pack away.

My killing got so out of control the gods themselves took notice and stepped in, and now here I was, banished to this castle in the forest, forced to be trapped in wolf form for three days every full moon as punishment.

Even in this new supernatural world, it was never hard for me to find a lover for the night, or it hadn’t been until I’d been punished. Now everyone was afraid of me. Ok, and maybe a rumour had spread that I’d killed a lover in the throes of passion. Was it just a rumour? I’ll let you decide on that, I wasn’t admitting anything else the gods could use to punish me further.

The last time I had spent more than one night with a lover was four years ago. I’d made the mistake of being lazy, rather than go out finding a different woman every night, I had just let her stay for the week. The s**x was great, she was an attractive woman, and then she ended up pregnant.

I had no intentions of settling down or mating myself to a werepanther, but I did offer to play my role in making sure our child would be well taken care of money wise. That worked for a while until she found out who I was. She completely freaked out, ran into hiding, and refused any contact. Even now I still hadn’t known where they were until last week.

Only the council members dared approach me, one of them let me know that the child’s mother had been murdered by a human, one who had escaped his master and went on a killing spree, taking as many supernaturals down with him as he could.

I didn’t know much else, only that I had a daughter, she’d be around the age of four now, and she had been with a nanny when her mother had been killed.

Apparently she’d run away after her mother’s death, too young to quite understand but still feeling the pain and grief, wanting her mother back and not understanding why she wasn’t there anymore. The stupid nanny had ignored her declarations of finding her father until one day she had gone into her bedroom and found her missing along with her clothes and backpack.

The pub door creaked open again, letting in a rush of cold air and rain, it carried the scent of damp wood, smoke, and something sweeter beneath it. Fear.

It dragged my attention back to the present.

Stumbling across this pub had been entertaining at first. I saw there was a human auction going on and wanted to see it for myself, but sitting at the bar watching the women lined up, a thought came to me. If I bought one, she would be mine, completely, no escape, no resistance.

I could use whatever female I bought for whatever I wanted, they wouldn’t be permitted to leave if I bought them, owned them. The way they were dressed, I knew the auction was for s.exual purposes.

I let my gaze move over each woman, they were all beautiful, carefully presented, long legs, short tight white dresses, and high heels, slim and slender with delicate curves designed to entice. Some were blonde, some brunette. My eyes fell on the last female, and my curiosity spiked.

This female was the only one who stood out like a sore thumb, shorter than the others, overweight with rolls and curves in all the wrong places. She wasn’t wearing a dress either, she wore faded black leggings and a white long-sleeved top, as if even her master had given up hope selling her off.

I looked down and saw her rolls of fat sit over her trousers. She stood slouched and quiet, trying to be invisible, her hands wringing nervously.

I took a slow sip of my gin and tonic, studying her. Our eyes met, hers dark brown almost black, and she quickly dropped them again. I took her all in, she was a Black woman, her skin was deep, rich, almost midnight in tone. Her black hair was curly, tight coils that fell to her b.reasts. She had big b.reasts, natural or due to her weight, I did not know.

The other men grew merrier and more drunk, some made lewd comments to the females, others laughed at the female I was looking at, one threw a racial slur at her and she ignored it as if she were used to it, another called her fat along with his friend, and others laughed when a man commented about how ugly she was, that perhaps if he were desperate enough he could put a bag over her head.

I looked back over to her and took in her face, dark brown eyes they were almost black, full lips, button nose. The whole right side of her face was badly scarred, one big burn scar as if she had been dunked in acid or lit on fire. Over the burn scar she had three big claw marks, deep and scarred, barely just missing her eye.

The owner came over to me and smiled, “I’ve not seen you here before. Are you interested in purchasing one of my girls?”

I looked up at her smiling and replied, “yes.”

Her face lit up, and she started pointing out each girl, telling me their names. It was a waste of time because I’d never bother to remember them, I already knew which one I wanted.

My eyes lingered on each girl, they were gorgeous, but I’d had many gorgeous women in my bed, slender women with curves in all the right places, small perky breasts, petite enough to lift up, I’d had it all, and it had become boring. I wanted something different. My eyes fell on the last girl, still wringing her hands nervously. “I want her.”

The owner looked at me wide-eyed and said, “I’m sorry, but did you say you wanted Amaya?”

Amaya? Pretty name. I nodded, and she asked, “are you sure? You wouldn’t want someone more appealing for your bed?”

“I’ll make it work,” I said, never taking my eyes off Amaya.

“But you can have—” Growing annoyed, I looked at the woman and said more coldly, “I want Amaya.”

I gave her the money, and still looking stunned, she went over to Amaya and whispered in her ear. Amaya’s eyes shot to mine, fear on her face, it rolled off her in waves, sharp and intoxicating. I smirked at her. I never said I was the good guy. I watched her whole body begin to tremble, and she stumbled when the woman nudged her forward.

The other men watched, and one muttered, “who the f***k bought that freak?”

The woman looked over at me. “I didn’t catch your name.”

Everyone looked over to me. I leaned back slightly, relaxed. “I never gave it.”

“What is it?” She asked.

“Do you need to know?”

“Yes, I like to log all my customers so I know who my females are going to.”

Pfft, as if she gave a f***k, but I answered anyway. “Clayton.”

The whole room fell silent, instant and heavy, as if everyone had stopped breathing. One man swallower audibly quietly asked, “Clayton Blackthorn?”

“That would be me,” I smiled at him, showing teeth, and he sank back in his chair. The reaction was immediate from everyone, fear, recognition. The room made a collective gasp, pretty dramatic, but I was used to this response by now.

I looked over at Amaya, who looked like she had p.issed herself. She turned desperately to look at the lady who had just sold her to me and begged, “please, I can’t go with him, he will kill me.”

I leaned back on my elbows and patiently waited.