Make Me Yours, Alpha

Dorian didn’t pause to catch his breath as he tore through the darkness, following the relentless red pulse of the tracker pointing to Alyssa’s location.

Thick tree trunks cracked and shattered as he bounded past, his massive paws tearing up dirt and roots with every violent stride.

His mind burned with a single, consuming thought; reach Alyssa and save her. Nothing else mattered. Not the Moon Ceremony, cancelled tonight for the first time in decades. Not the hunt. Not the pack.

​If anything happened to her, his world would end. He had learned that truth the hard way when he nearly lost her in Ashgard.

Finally reaching the coordinates on the screen, he skidded to a halt. He remained in his Lycan form, pacing in a tense circle through the clearing, his nostrils flaring, desperately hunting for the faintest trace of her scent.

The forest was eerily silent. The full moon had slipped behind a heavy cluster of storm clouds, plunging the woods into near-total darkness.

Suddenly, the fur along Dorian’s spine bristled. He whirled around, golden eyes slashing through the thick underbrush. Someone, or something, was lurking in the dark. He waited, muscles coiled like steel springs, biding his time.

Then, out of the shadows, Alyssa crawled into the clearing.

Her hair was a tangled mess, her clothes stained with mud and dirt. The wound in her stomach was bleeding profusely, wet crimson soaking straight through the fabric of her shirt.

Dorian froze. The moment the wind shifted, her scent hit him, that sweet, familiar trace of wild lavender.

Alyssa lifted her head and locked eyes with him. Her blue eyes widened, tears brimming along her lashes. A broken, raspy sob tore from her throat as she reached out a trembling, blood-stained hand toward him.

”Dorian...” she whispered softly.

In that split second, every coherent thought in Dorian’s mind vanished. He shifted back into his human form, crossed the clearing in three long strides, and pulled her tightly into his arms.

He spoke no words. He simply held her against his chest, his arms locking like iron around her waist as he buried his face in the hollow of her neck. She trembled in his grip, her hands weakly clinging to his shoulders.

When he finally pulled back, he cupped her face with both hands, gazing down into her pale face.

”Is it really you, my love?” he rasped, his thumb brushing a tear from her cheek. ”Tell me it’s you.”

”It’s me, Dorian,” she whispered, her fingers reaching up to press against his cheekbone. ”I escaped from Pilate. He was going to murder me. He said he wanted to avenge his brother. I was so terrified.”

She buried her face into the nook of his neck again, weeping softly. ”Take me home, Dorian. Please.”

Dorian stepped back slightly, his eyes roaming over her body. But when he reached down to check the wound on her stomach, she suddenly doubled over with a soft cry, pushing his hands away.

”Just take me home,” she pleaded, her voice tight with pain. ”I’m hurt.”

Dorian didn’t move. He stood rooted to the spot, staring down at her with sharp, sudden intensity.

Usually, whenever he was close to Alyssa, Shadow would stir wildly beneath his skin, thrashing to reach her. Even Soren would surface for a fleeting second before retreating into his mind.

But looking at her right now, his inner monsters were completely silent.

Yes, her skin smelled like lavender, but Shadow recoiled from her presence. Soren gave no sign that she was near.

Alyssa noticed the sudden, cold change in his posture. She took a guarded step backward, her expression turning hurt, her arms still wrapped tightly around her bloodied middle.

”Dorian, what’s wrong? Why are you looking at me like that?”

”I need to know,” Dorian said softly, keeping his voice even. ”If it’s truly you. I can’t trust my eyes right now.”

”It’s me,” she called out softly, her eyes glistening. ”Your little lamb. You know me. I would never deceive you.”

Dorian took a cautious step back, his instincts flaring. ”What did you say to me the night after we returned from the dance arena in Ashgard? After we made love, what did you say?”

Alyssa’s eyes darted frantically around the pitch-black clearing before fixing back on him. ”I... I don’t remember, Dorian! Don’t do this right now, please.”

”Answer me, Alyssa,” Dorian insisted, holding his distance. ”Try to remember. That is the only way I will know it’s you.”

Alyssa’s mind raced for a moment. Then she forced a soft, trembling smile, looking Dorian straight in the eyes. ”I told you that I... that I loved you.”

Dorian’s expression didn’t shift, but a cold ache settled in his gut. Perhaps it really was her. Perhaps the trauma of Pilate’s attack had muted his bond with Shadow.

A relieved sigh broke through his lips. ”It’s you,” he whispered. ”It’s really you.”

Alyssa smiled and threw herself into his arms again, wrapping her limbs around him. ”I told you it was me. I would never betray you.”

Dorian leaned down and buried his face in her hair, letting his guard down as her scent enveloped him.

Completely unsuspecting, he didn’t see her pull out the silver dagger hidden beneath her shirt, the blade she had been clutching against her skin to fake her stomach wound.

With a brutal twist of her wrist, she raised the blade and drove it straight into Dorian’s lower back, right into his spine.

Dorian let out a deep, agonized groan at the impact. He shoved her back violently, reaching behind to wrench the blade out of his flesh. Blood coated the jagged steel, hot and crimson, soaking straight through his clothes.

Alyssa began to laugh, a low, terrifying chuckle that didn’t sound like her. Her blue eyes turned into pitch-black voids as her skin melted away like hot wax, revealing Pilate’s true form.

The shapeshifter expanded into his true self, a towering, six-foot assassin with hollow black eyes and a wicked grin as he watched Dorian drop down onto one knee, his body trembling from the effect of the poison.

”Gullible little Alpha,” he singsonged, stepping forward slowly. ”Trusting his sweet, wolfless Luna. Wintercrest calls you the ruthless King of the North, yet here you are, brought to your knees by the face of your lover.”

Dorian gritted his teeth, struggling to force his legs to stand, but his muscles were rapidly going numb.

”Don’t bother fighting it,” Pilate sneered, pulling a second jagged dagger from his hip. ”It’s a concentrated, lethal doze of aconite. Even a Lycan like you cannot survive a direct hit to the spine.”

He stepped closer, raising the blade above Dorian’s head to finish the job. ”You made a grave mistake murdering my brother,” he snarled viciously. ”This is just me returning the favor. Your life and your Luna’s for his.”

He brought the dagger flashing down rapidly, but before the blade could deliver the death blow, Dorian’s clawed hand shot out, catching Pilate’s wrist in a vise-like grip.

His other hand shot up, wrapping tight around Pilate’s throat. His claws snapped out, sinking straight into the shapeshifter’s flesh.

He slowly stood up. A terrifying, inhuman growl vibrated through his ribs, shaking the air around them. When he lifted his head, his eyes were no longer human; they were a swirling, blinding vortex of pitch darkness, blood-red, and burning gold.

Pilate choked, his dagger slipping from his limp fingers as his feet dangled uselessly off the ground. Dorian straightened to his full, towering height, holding the assassin up by his throat with a single arm.

​”H... how...?” Pilate rasped, his black eyes widening in absolute terror.

”Truly, a Lycan isn’t immune to aconite,” Dorian muttered, his voice echoing with the layered weight of three distinct beings. ”But you made a fatal mistake, Pilate. I am not just an ordinary Lycan. I am your worst nightmare! The Demon King they speak about.”

Pilate’s eyes flared with horrified realization as Dorian raised his free clawed hand and slashed straight across the shapeshifter’s throat.