Make Me Yours, Alpha

Sometime in the dark hours before dawn, an old, beat-up sedan tore into the gravel driveway of Conri’s villa.

Reynold killed the engine, threw the door open, and stepped out. Sweat streaked down the side of his pale, twisted face as he stormed past the front door, completely ignoring the guards who stepped into his path.

”Where is he?” he bellowed, taking the stairs two at a time as he made a straight line for the upper study. ”Where the fuck is Conri?”

”Mr. Reynold, you can’t be up here!” a guard shouted, rushing to block him at the landing.

Reynold shoved him back with a vicious snarl, marching up to the doors of the study and slamming them open. His furious gaze swept the room, freezing when they landed on Conri. The sight sent a wave of bile rising straight up his throat.

Conri sat reclined on the leather sofa, his head thrown back against the cushion, his eyes half-lidded in dark satisfaction. His legs were spread wide, and a young maid knelt stark naked between his thighs, her head bobbing rhythmically as she sucked him. He was shirtless, one of his broad hands tangled tightly in her hair, pulling her against him.

He didn’t even bother to sit up to acknowledge Reynold’s entrance. He merely let out a low, sickening groan, his fingers tightening on the girl’s scalp as he forced her to move faster.

”Conri!” Reynold roared, taking three aggressive steps into the study. ”You filthy bastard! Look at me when I’m speaking to you!”

Conri still didn’t open his eyes. A cold, mocking laugh bubbled up from his chest. With a sudden, violent shove, he pushed the maid’s head down until she choked, before hauling her up by her hair and slapping her cheek with a soft pat.

”Go wait in the bedroom,” Conri ordered, his voice smooth and untroubled.

The girl scrambled frantically to her feet, scooped her dress off the floor, and bolted out the door without looking back. Reynold’s disgusted gaze tracked her retreat before slamming back onto Conri.

Ignoring Reynold’s manic trembling, Conri lazily reached for his silk robe, pulling it over his shoulders. He limped toward the desk, poured a generous glass of vodka, and threw it down his throat in one long gulp.

Then, he finally turned his dark gaze to Reynold. ”To what do I owe this pathetic intrusion?”

”You sick bastard!” Reynold snarled, his breath coming in ragged hitches. ”You have a mate! Yet here you are, fucking the throat out of a servant girl!”

Conri chuckled dryly as he refilled his crystal glass. Bethany had left the North two days prior and wouldn’t return for another week, a luxury that gave him full freedom to indulge his appetites. But he wasn’t about to justify his habits to the desperate fool standing before him.

”What I do within the walls of my own home is none of your goddamn concern, Reynold,” he muttered coldly. ”State your business for ruining my morning, or get the hell out.”

”My son is dead!” Reynold screamed, his voice breaking into a ragged sob of rage.

For a beat, Conri said nothing. He simply observed Reynold with mild amusement, taking in his red-rimmed eyes, shaking knees, and white-knuckled fists.

Then, a slow, cruel smirk spread across his lips. ​”And what, pray tell, does that have to do with me?”

”How dare you?” Reynold raged, taking a threatening step forward. ”You swore the shapeshifter had everything under control! You said Dorian would bleed out on the night of the Moon Ceremony! Yet that bastard still sits on the throne of Wintercrest, and my son is rotting in the dirt!”

”Your son’s death is hardly a tragedy to me, Reynold,” Conri retorted smoothly, tilting his glass. ”If Pilate put a blade through him, then Seth was in the way and needed to be erased.”

”You monstrous son of a bitch!” Reynold slammed his fists on the desk. ”I gave you everything! I handed you the blueprint to drag Dorian and that girl into the dirt! And in return, I end up with a dead heir?”

”Bold of you to assume you were ever a partner in this,” Conri sneered, his tone dropping into a deadly whisper. ”You were a pawn, Reynold. A disposable tool to kick open the door. You’ve served your purpose, and I have no further use for you.”

He snapped his fingers. The doors burst open, and four guards marched into the room.

”Escort Reynold off the premises,” Conri commanded, turning his back on him. ”If he sets foot here ever again, kill him on sight.”

”YOU BASTARD!” Reynold roared, throwing his weight across the desk. Before he could reach Conri, two guards tackled him mid-air, slamming him hard onto the marble floor.

”You will burn for this!” he shrieked as they pinned his arms behind his back. ”I swear on my blood, Conri, you will pay! A life for a life!”

”You’ll be in a grave long before you raise a hand against me,” Conri growled, glaring down at him. ”This is a game of wolves, Reynold. You should have been a better player. But you were too blinded by your pathetic vendetta to see the real enemy standing right next to you.”

Reynold thrashed wildly, but the guards hauled him up, dragging his boots across the floor and tossing him unceremoniously out the front doors onto the dirt driveway.

With his pride shredded and his sanity unraveling, Reynold dragged himself back into his car, slammed the gas pedal, and tore down the dark mountain road.

As the trees blurred past, his shattered mind locked onto a single, blood-soaked path forward. Conri would not use him and discard him like trash. He wouldn’t allow it.

He would avenge Seth. He would hunt down Conri’s precious son, Joffrey, and slaughter him. And then, he would watch Dorian’s kingdom burn.

...

Deep within the mountains of Wintercrest, where dense pine canopies choked out the light of the sun, a soulless rogue slithered through the pitch-black woods toward the mouth of a hidden cave.

Thick plumes of black smoke curled around its malformed body. Its eyes were pure, void-like blackness, empty of soul, consciousness, or light.

The beast slid under the cave, creeping down a narrow subterranean tunnel until the passage opened into a vast underground chamber lit by the eerie glow of burning torches.

A tall cloaked figure stood at the edge of the chamber, blending into the shadows. He turned slowly as the rogue crawled toward him. When he stepped into the light of a flickering torch, the side of his harsh, scarred face emerged from the darkness.

Ragnar Thorne. The Rogue King. Lord of the soulless, and the warlord who had backed out of Conri’s alliance at the last minute.

Ragnar had not backed out out of fear. A month ago, a surge of ancient, dark magic had called to him, a magic he had not felt in decades. He had dispatched the rogues to trace it, which led to the bloody massacre of a group of campers.

Then, just a week ago, the surge returned, vibrating beyond the borders of Wintercrest. Again, he had sent his rogues to track it. That was when Conri had approached him with an offer to join an alliance to dethrone Dorian.

Ragnar harbored his own deep hatred for Dorian. During the last war with the Onyx, Dorian had slaughtered his legions like wild animals. Since then, he had craved the Alpha King’s head for years.

But a greater prize had taken priority. His scouts had returned with tales of a girl with blood-tipped hair, a female who had brought an entire building crashing down with unseen, terrifying power.

Recognizing that Reynold was the one who had brought information of the girl to Conri, Ragnar had sent a rogue to infiltrate Reynold’s residence in search of proof.

Now, Ragnar looked down at the creature kneeling before him. Clutched between the rogue’s black, mutated fangs was a single, fine strand of hair.

​”Good beast,” Ragnar rumbled, reaching down to take the strand.

He brought it up to his nose and inhaled deeply, pulling the scent into his lungs. The moment the scent registered in his mind, Ragnar froze. His posture went rigid, and the black, hollow pupils of his eyes flared into a violent crimson.

”Impossible...” he whispered, his voice trembling with awe. ”The last pure blood of the Onyx... still breathes.”