Page 37 of Mated By the Alphas
That still doesn’t change how I feel.
I push myself harder, my paws pounding against the pavement as I race through an alley. Physical exertion should help. It always does when I feel the brokenness inside me, crying out for a mate I’ll never find. But tonight, nothing Is working. Every time I close my eyes, I see her face. Her scent lingers on my breath, just because I was close to her.
“No,” I growl, skidding to a stop in an abandoned parking lot.
I’m panting. Being reckless. I’m not even keeping to the shadows like I normally do, and that’s my specialty. Mywolf’sspecialty. My fur is jet black, no trace of charcoal like Hayden’s. It barely reflects light until I’m standing underneath it.
“I have to get ahold of myself,” I pant.
This is insane. She’s Hayden’s mate. My Alpha’s mate. She’ll be the Alpha Female of our Pack, even if she isn’t a wolf. That’s how the hierarchy always works. How it’s worked for generations that go back further than written history.
Something isn’t right. I can’t shake this off. Whatever Ansley is, she’s shaking the foundation of everything I know. We’ve been unable to mate since the last she-wolf died. I still carry that pain inside me like a scar. A scar that will never heal.
“I can’t run around in circles all night,” I growl. “There’s more at stake than whatever has my head in a mess right now. I need to go see Jaxton.”
I don’t reallywantto go see Jaxton. I was happy when Hayden said he’d take care of it. I grunt with frustration, look up at the stars, and stifle the howl that tries to build in my throat before I break into a sprint.
Howling, like running through the streets of Chicago without the cover of darkness, is dangerous. It’s hard to confuse a shifter’s howl with that of a normal wolf. Ours carries the weight of everything we’ve lost.
I blend in with the shadows as I move in silence. Hayden is too big to move in silence now. He cracks the concrete if he gets too much height on his leap. If he’s running as fast as I am, his claws leave gashes in the pavement. He likes to travel across rooftops. That just slows me down. I haven’t even hit full speed yet.
A park is ahead of me. There are people hanging out there. A couple of skater punks, a girl who is trying to look cool by smoking a cigarette near them. A drug deal going down just out of sight of those three. A couple holding hands by the swing.
I don’t run around them. I don’t run through them. I accelerate like I’ve been fired out of a cannon, my muscles flex, and I take to the air. I’m the closest thing to a flying wolf as there ever will be unless one of us sprouts wings.
I hit the ground on the other side of the crowd, just inside the shadows, and I’m gone before their eyes can register I was even there.
Now I’m moving at full speed.
Even that doesn’t make me stop thinking abouther. That pull. The way her scent lingers. The way it tastes better than the cleanest air, before humans turned a beautiful forest into smogand named it Chicago. The Windy City. I can fucking ride that wind.
Now I’m riding it with her on my mind as I finally land with a skid outside Jaxton’s house.
Jaxton lives alone. Well, that’s not entirely true. He lives with memories, ghosts, and the kind of rage that doesn’t like being contained. We all have some of that, but Jaxton’s burden is bigger than ours.
His burden has a name.Joanna.
Jaxton’s house is a monstrosity he built himself in the middle of several acres outside of Chicago. On the outside, it almost looks abandoned, except for the lights peeking through the windows he never opens. He rarely leaves this place. It’s practically his tomb. Maybe it would be if Wyatt stopped visiting and keeping the pantries stocked.
I don’t knock. He knew I was here before I was close enough to sense him. I’m the second oldest of our surviving brothers, but he’s by far the strongest next to our Alpha. He would have become one, had the Crimson Templars not burnt Joanna at the stake in front him.
I shift into my true Human form, push the door open, and walk inside. I grab a cloak from the hook by the door and wrap it around me. It doesn’t smell like it’s been washed in a while, but it reminds me of my brothers.
When I step into the living room of Jaxton’s abode, I see him in his chair. There’s a bottle of whiskey on the table next to him. A lit cigar in his mouth and an ashtray overflowing with remnants, some smoldering from hot ashes.
That’s where he always is. He can’t even use his Third Form anymore. His concentration is too fucked up.
“Sorry to bother you, brother, but there’s a situation. Vampires. We need to check St. Michael’s Cathedral. Hayden killed a lot of fledglings and fought a young maker.” I pause, waiting to see if he even looks at me. He doesn’t, so I continue. “He’s fine, but we need you. This is probably one of those things that will take a few days, so you might want to pack a few things.”
“I see,” Jaxton says, glancing my way for a moment, the cigar bobbing in his mouth. He takes a long pull, then pulls it away from his face. “You said Haydenfoughta young maker? He didn’t kill him?”
“It was a blood bank. The vampire called for help,” I explain with a growl. “And there were… people. Hayden had to rescue them. We’ll be looking for other survivors.”
“Fucking vampires,” Jaxton sighs out a stream of smoke and downs some whiskey. “Well, that isn’t what has you all worked up. Thought you were trying to break the sound barrier with how fast you were running.”
I freeze, my hand tightening on the cloak. Jaxton didn’t become a full Alpha. But damn if his voice doesn’t challenge the hierarchy that saysI’mthe older brother.
But of course he noticed. Jaxton may be a broken shell of what he was supposed to become, but he’s still one of the most perceptive wolves I’ve ever known. He knows which hand you’re going to punch him with before you realize you’re going to throw it.
