Page 25 of Training the Alpha

“It’s the only reason I stay,” Marcus deadpans.

I give him a flat stare.

“And the ass,” he adds. “How could I forget the ass.”

“Fuck me and then make me French toast?” I ask, yawning, although really it’s more of a demand, and Marcus knows it.

Luckily for me, my alpha is always happy to oblige.

“Stop grumbling, you’ve been promising me I can take you furniture shopping since I moved in.”

Marcus lets out a slow, suffering groan, but doesn’t remove his hand from where it’s resting on my hip. We’re standing in the middle of a cavernous, dusty antique store on the edge of the city, surrounded by towering stacks of oak wardrobes, velvet armchairs, and the faintly sweet smell of aged wood polish.

“I’m not grumbling, but the dust is making me sneeze,” he says, sniffling for added effect. I swear he’s gotten more dramatic since we got together, like I’m rubbing off on him.

“You said you can never find pieces with character, like all my furniture,” I say, spreading my arms out in front of me. “Well, this is where we find them.”

I step out of his hold to wander down the aisles, running my hand over the rugged edge of a sideboard that looks like it’s been in storage since the ‘60s, and stopping to pick up a stunning Tiffany lamp, huffing when I turn it over and find a cracked pane of stained glass. Marcus follows half a step behind, glancing around, completely out of his depth.

I’ve got my head halfway inside a gigantic ceiling light when I notice that he’s not behind me anymore. I glance back over my shoulder. Marcus is standing a few paces away where a buckling bookshelf holds a random assortment of second-hand books and old textbooks, half of their covers hanging off. He’s got a large hardback in his hands, his eyes fixed intensely on words he’s tracing with one finger.

“Find something more exciting than an obnoxiously large Bauhaus lightshade?” I ask, sauntering back over to him and resting my chin on his shoulder.

Marcus jolts slightly, snapping the book shut like he’s been caught looking at a naughty magazine. “Just… looking,” he rasps.

I look at the cover of the book in his hands. The title is stamped in gold lettering over a dark green cover, and it looks noticeably newer than most of the other books on the shelf.Beyond Biology: Emerging Research On Alpha To Alpha Bonds.

I lift my chin off his shoulder sharply, my scent spiking.

“Did you read much?” I ask quietly. I suddenly feel like I can’t take a full breath

“A little. It’s basically a collection of research papers and anecdotal reports from the last fifty-odd years. I don’t think there’s been much official research into…” He trails off, flipping back to the page he was just scanning, handing the book to me. “Just read this.”

“…long-held biological theories indicated that permanent partner bonds and mutual scent bonding were exclusive to traditional omega/alpha pairings. However, some early-stage modern endocrinological research and anecdotal evidence from oft-subjugated subcultures suggest that in instances of intense emotional connection and life-partnership, dual-alpha bonds may not only be possible, but hold the same permanency and biological synchronicity as alpha/omega mating bonds.”

We’re both quiet as I close the book. The idea of mating—of a true, biological bond that tethers two souls together—is something we’ve never discussed. Alphas don’t mate alphas: it’s branded into the fabric of society.Everythingis based around alpha/omega bonds, so why would we have discussed it? It’s taken as a given that it’s not possible.

“Do you think it’s real?” I say finally, my throat dry.

“It’s from a legit scientific journal,” Marcus responds, still staring at the cover of the closed book. “And I wouldn’t expect the media to report on something like this. They’d have you believe couples like us don’t even exist. But if there’s any truth to it…”

When I look back at him, he’s looking at me hopefully, and my stomach leaps.

“Yeah, that would be…” I don’t have the words to finish the thought.

Marcus brings one large, calloused hand up to cup my jaw. “I don’t need a piece of paper or a traditional bond to know that I’m never letting you go, Alex,” he murmurs, his eyes searchingmine. “But if there’s a way to make it permanent, to show the whole damn world that your alpha belongs to mine…”

“If it’s possible, we’ll find out how,” I say, kissing his thumb when it brushes over my bottom lip. My voice is thick with emotion that I can see reflected back at me in Marcus’ handsome, usually stoic face.

Marcus lets out a rumble of approval, tucking the book under his arm and linking his other hand with mine. “We’re buying the book.”

“And that beautiful sideboard over there?” I smile slowly, squeezing Marcus’ hand.

He rolls his eyes, but the warmth in his gaze turns my insides to mush. “And the damn sideboard, you furniture whore. You’re lucky I love you.”

Andyeah, I think,I am.

—