The Alpha King's Captive: (A Steamy Werewolf Romance)

It sounded like an explosion.

A roar tears through the metal ward, quickly followed by wild, erratic bangings. The immortal shifter throwing himself repeatedly against the enclosures. If I were to only walk further in the direction of the sound, I'd see the gruesome smears of blood painting the unbreakable glass.

But like always, I stifle down bile and turn away. Armed men rush past me, going to subdue the man, speakers blaring out commands.

"Hold him down!" one of them orders harshly.

"He's too strong! We need reinforcement."

I make my way down the linoleum floors, making sure to keep my gaze down and away from the transparent prisons. White LED light shines down, the air rife with the cloying scent of antiseptic, death, and decay. I clutch my logbook closer to me, my chest constricting with each breath I pull in.

Rounding into the clinic, I head toward Dr. Sarah's cubicle.

She looks up when I drop the book in front of her. "Here. All done," I say with a forced chirp.

She grabs it immediately. Her eyes scan the report rapidly from behind her glasses. "Odd," she muses under her breath. "Experiment 107 doesn't seem to be reacting to the substance."

My throat tightens and I have to stop myself from shuffling on my feet. I hate the way they refer to the Shifters as experiments. I stop my musings abruptly once I realize the pronoun I'd used. They.

As the months progress, I realize I've started to see myself apart from them. Which is a dangerous thing, because I am a Hunter. Will be until I die.

Anything to protect him.

"Why is that?" I ask, bringing myself back to the present.

She looks up at me as if only realizing I am still in the office with her. "I have no idea. Either he's too strong or has developed a mutation from the previous shots that allows his system to be immune. Anyway, we move on to phase 2. Iridium."

My breaths seize and without thinking I blurt, "But that could kill him."

The office goes deathly quiet.

I had shown consideration for the enemy.

What the hell was that Gwen? I fire internally.

Dr. Sarah seems to also be thinking the same thing because the eyes on me narrow. "And? What is one more death?" Her palms land smack down on the table, causing me to jump. "They've caused countless of ours!"

"I--"

"Am I right in thinking you're becoming a liability, Miss Owens? You know we don't hesitate to cut our losses."

I swallow, looking down at my feet. "I'm sorry, Dr. Sarah."

She sits back, throwing the logbook back at me. "Experiment 487. Check his vitals so we can begin working on him."

I have a bit of a struggle catching the book and after it dances precariously on my open palms, it lands on the floor. The picture staring back at me is his.

'Experiment 487.'

The organization's latest conquest. The Alpha king himself, Malcolm Blaine.

My heart slams against my chest and I pick up the book, palms clammy. Steel grey eyes stare up at me, seeming piercing and life-like even in the inanimate pages. A cold face peers through. So do a pair of high cheekbones, a proud aristocratic nose, and a strong jaw. The expression on his face is fierce, but that does nothing to distract away from his otherworldly beauty.

Locks of hair fall across his stern brows. They're midnight black and look so soft that I find my fingers itching for a feel of them.

I realize I'm staring and worse, Dr. Sarah's gaze is trained on me. My blood cools when I meet her eyes. With an awkward, "I'll be back soon," I leave her office.

My heels click against the vinyl floors. The fighters give me a nod of acknowledgment as I pass through, recognizing me as one of their own. I suddenly feel uncomfortable, like my button-down and pencil skirt are a size too tight. I feel like I'm harbouring a dirty secret.

Which, in reality, I am.

I turn into endless white hallways and soon find myself in an elevator. The ride up is long. Understandably. Mount Pyre has got like a hundred floors.

My first memory as a Hunter flits in. It was two years ago, they were in need of more scientists and I was looking for a way to get into the organization. But just as I got in, I wanted out. This place was filled with murderous fanatics and people who believed the Shifters were the ones responsible for the worst things that ever happened to humanity.

As if humans were the saints.

The glass partitions slide open in front me and I step into a different part of the building. I feel the first threads of dread slide into my stomach. It's always like this. The fear, the uncertainty. I know that before testing the immortals they were sedated out of their minds. But that never stops me from worrying. What if one of them wakes up and decides to be the scourge of the human race the fanatics pipe about?

"Evening," a fighter standing post greets.

"Good evening," I say back.

Taking out my card, I slide the chip into the side of the door. It whirs open, letting me entry.

I walk in. The doors slide close behind me with a finality that has the hairs on my nape rising.

Loosening my shoulders, I tell myself I'm being irrational and draw closer to the large hospital bed.

It is my first time seeing Malcolm.

I wonder how in hell the hunters had managed to capture him. The thought leaves my mind once I get a full view of him.

"Woah..." My face colours at how breathy I sound.

The man is large.

His tan skin stands out amidst the white linens. He is naked from the waist up and I get an eyeful of huge shoulders, corded muscles, rounded pectorals, and a ripped abdomen.

I move closer and check his temperature, recording it. Werewolves have a normal body temperature of what humans consider sick. It still amazes me how different we are from the Shifters. I move the sheets away in an attempt to reach for his wrist and I pause when I see he's naked safe for a pair of boxer briefs.

His lower torso is also uncovered and I make out black ink. What is written there is indecipherable.

I catch myself staring for too long and redden. Really, Gwen. A new low? Ogling a man who's knocked out cold?

I get back to work and stiffen when a low mumble escapes from him. My head snaps up, but my racing heart calms when I see his eyes are still closed shut.

Tired, I lumber home later that evening, taking a cab. Once we round into my lane, I pay the driver and head down the hard concrete. This part of town is industrial, with buildings lumped together and rundown warehouses dotting the street.

Sliding my gaze around, I grip my keys and fit one into the lock. The sound of workers unloading cargo along the harbour fill the night.

Once the door comes open, an excited shriek meets my ears and soon a small body barrels through the living room, leaping into my arms. I giggle, catching him. Pulling back, I stare into his slitted eyes. Gradually they morph back to normal rounded pupils and I smile.

In my arms is the very reason for my existence.