Sired to the alpha

18

Saturday afternoon was exactly what I needed: loud music, bright lights, overpriced lattes, and my best friend Josh strutting through the mall like it was his personal runway.

“You need to live a little, babe,” Josh said, tossing a silk scarf around his neck like we were in Paris instead of a generic shopping center in suburban hell. “No more brooding in your bedroom like a vampire’s ex-girlfriend.”

I laughed, the tension in my chest loosening just a bit. “I’m not brooding.”

Josh raised a perfectly arched brow. “You literally texted me ‘everything is burning and I might be dating a werewolf, but also I want to make out with him again, is that bad?’ last night.”

I groaned. “In my defense, it was a stressful night.”

“And now we are doing retail therapy,” he said, dragging me into a boutique glowing with neon lights and crop tops.

Josh chattered about fashion, boys, and his theory that Ryker was either a cursed prince or a supernatural himbo with rage issues. I mostly nodded and tried to forget the way Ryker had kissed me like he owned my soul.

I was just trying on sunglasses at a kiosk when Josh stopped mid-sentence and smirked.

“Don’t panic, but you’re being stared at like a snack on legs.”

I turned—and there they were.

Ryker and Derek.

Derek leaned against the second-floor railing with his usual smug, bad-boy charm. Ryker stood beside him, jaw tight, eyes locked on me like I’d betrayed him just by breathing in another guy’s presence.

Of course he would show up now.

Josh whistled under his breath. “Damn. Is that your wolf-boy? Because, girl… 10 out of 10. Would climb like a tree.”

“Josh!”

“I’m just saying.”

Ryker didn’t smile. He didn’t wave. He just… stared.

That stare made my skin burn.

I excused myself, trying to breathe, trying to not think about golden eyes and the taste of his mouth on mine. I ducked into the women’s restroom, gripping the edge of the sink and trying to steady my pulse.

And then I heard the door open behind me.

I turned.

Ryker.

He locked the door.

My breath caught. “This is the women’s bathroom.”

“I don’t care.”

He looked furious. Flushed. His chest rose and fell like he’d run here, like something inside him was barely held together.

“I saw you with him.”

“He’s my best friend,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. “You don’t get to—”

Ryker was in front of me in an instant.

His hand slammed against the wall beside my head—not to hurt, but to trap me, to box me in. The air between us pulsed with heat.

“You left,” he growled. “You ran off into the woods, and then you’re here… laughing with someone else like nothing happened?”

“I needed space—”

“I need you,” he cut in, voice low and rough. “You don’t get it. When I saw you with him… it made me crazy.”

His mouth was inches from mine.

“You have no right to be jealous,” I whispered, even as my hands curled into his shirt, betraying me.

“Maybe not,” he said, voice darker now, “but I am.”

Then he kissed me.

Hard. Desperate. Like he was punishing me and worshiping me all at once.

His hands found my waist, pulling me against his body, and I felt everything—every line of muscle, every sharp edge of control barely holding him back.

I gasped into his mouth, and Ryker took it as invitation, deepening the kiss until I was dizzy. His hands roamed—my back, my hips, my thighs—and I clutched him tighter, wanting more, needing it.

“You drive me mad,” he murmured, his mouth trailing down my jaw. “You smell like him, like him, and it’s killing me.”

“Josh is gay,” I panted. “And I still only want you.”

That broke something in him.

He pressed me back against the cool tile, lips trailing heat down my neck, hands bunching the hem of my shirt. My skin burned where he touched me, like he was branding me with want.

“Say it again,” he growled.

“I want you,” I said, breathless.

Ryker kissed me again, slower this time, deeper—less fury, more fire.

But just as his hand slipped under my shirt—

BANG.

Someone knocked hard on the bathroom door. “Hey! What the hell? People are waiting!”

We froze.

Ryker groaned against my throat. “You have got to be kidding me.”

I laughed—actually laughed, breathless and flushed and completely undone. “This is so not the place for this.”

He looked at me, eyes glowing faintly. “Then let me take you somewhere that is.”

The cabin glowed with amber light, shadows dancing across the walls as the fire crackled in the hearth. I stood in the center of the room, breath shallow, watching Ryker peel off his jacket like he couldn’t get out of it fast enough.

The air between us buzzed—hot, electric, inevitable.

His eyes locked on mine, glowing faintly gold even in human form. “You still scared?” he asked, voice low and rough.

I shook my head, unable to form words. My body answered for me—stepping forward, closing the space between us, my hands fisting in the front of his shirt.

“Good,” he growled—and then he kissed me.

Not like earlier. This wasn’t desperate or angry. This was slow, heated, and possessive. His lips moved over mine like he was memorizing the taste of me. His hands slid under my shirt, fingertips brushing fire along my waist, then higher, higher, until I was gasping into his mouth.

He lifted my shirt over my head, tossing it aside without breaking the kiss. His mouth trailed down my neck, my collarbone, finding every inch of skin like it belonged to him. His teeth grazed my shoulder—not hard, just enough to make me shiver.

“Tell me to stop,” he whispered against my skin.

“I won’t,” I breathed.

Ryker groaned—actually groaned—and that sound lit something in me I didn’t know I had. I reached for his shirt, tugging it upward, revealing muscle and heat and scars I wanted to trace with my tongue.

He caught my hands, his breath ragged. “You’re sure?”

Instead of answering, I kissed him—deeper this time, letting my body speak for me. He responded instantly, pushing me gently back onto the bed.

He hovered over me, eyes burning into mine. “I’ve wanted this for so long,” he murmured. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

Then his mouth was on mine again, and his hands were everywhere—sliding down my sides, over my thighs, his fingers trailing heat and promise as he explored me like he’d been starving and I was his first taste of real air.

Every movement was deliberate, teasing, designed to pull me further into the fire. And I burned.

He kissed lower, slower—his tongue tracing the curve of my stomach, his hands gripping my hips with a reverence that made me ache. He took his time, like he wasn’t just claiming my body, but learning it.

And when he finally pressed himself against me, bare skin to bare skin, it wasn’t just physical—it was everything. A slow, desperate need unraveling at the seams.

I cried out his name, and he responded with a growl, his lips brushing my ear.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered. “Let me.”

And I did.

I let him take me apart, piece by piece, breath by breath—until there was no more fear, no more secrets, no more hiding.

Just Ryker.

Just us.

Just fire.