Rone

Chapter One

I had a bitch of a hangover. 

A fact I discovered soon after waking up on the floor of my motel room. I had a nasty habit of falling out of beds—and into them. I swore as I pushed myself up, cringing as the morning light seared my eyes and made the base of my skull thump painfully.

"Fuck," I swore, perching on the edge of the mattress as I pushed my long, copper hair over my shoulder. I didn't own pyjamas at the current moment so I was dressed in nothing but my bra and underwear. Last night's dress was discarded, inside out, on the floor with my heels not too far behind.

I stood and stretched, catching my reflection in the mirror and cringing. I looked like hell. Hair mused, eyes lined with last night's makeup, cheeks dusted with both freckles and mascara crumbles. It was a rough sight, especially the faint ring of my dark long-lasting lipstick that was still smudged on my chin.

I pulled the blinds down over the room's window and frowned before plucking the blanket from the bed, hopping onto a chair, and pinning it as best as I could so that it blocked the morning light out. I grumbled to myself as the room was once again plunged into darkness—this was my preferred setting.

I made shit coffee and it wasn't just because I was using the motel's old kettle and instant grinds—I was just terrible at anything remotely related to homemaking. I sipped on the bitter cup I made, cringing as a few grinds rolled around my mouth. I took another large sip, caught more grinds, and repeated the process.

A cold shower was next on the hangover list. I crouched under the weak stream, my shoulders folded inwards as I closed my eyes and let the water run over my face. I used a travel sized shampoo and conditioner, barely squeezing out enough of either to lather up my hair which stretched just past my ribs.

Wrapped in a scratchy towel that smelled stale, I sat on the bed and heaved my suitcase onto the mattress. I rifled through what little I owned and found what I needed; hairbrush, makeup, fresh underwear, outfit.

I typically wore all black. Black, ripped skinny jeans paired with knee high black boots and a distressed black tank. Thrown over it all, a black leather jacket and a thick pair of sunglasses. The look was formed with a distinct hatred for color and a deep-rooted fear of looking chubby. I had my mother and her heartwarming pep talks to thank for the latter.

My hair hung wet down my back, darkening to a rusty, brick red. I adjusted my bra underneath my shirt and pulled the front down slightly. I frowned and adjusted again, rolling my shoulders until I was satisfied.

When I was ready and presentable, I flopped back down on the bed and set about getting a game plan. Currently, I had just over one hundred and forty dollars. A number that was rapidly declining with each night I stayed in the motel and each bouncer I had to bribe.

I shivered as memories from last night drifted back. The rowdy group of men, the crowded club, the tall bouncer, the dancing, the threats, the bouncer's rough hands, the bouncer's tongue, the bottle of vodka I'd shared only with myself. I stood up and grabbed my bag, slipping it over my shoulder as I left the motel.

My hangover thanked me for the sunglasses as I walked down the main street of Britton. It was a quiet city with just under fifty thousand residents. It was a place to disappear in, with enough people to still guard your anonymity but small enough that it wasn't a happening tourist destination.

I found a quiet café on the street and entered, cringing at the sound of bells chiming overhead. It took about two cups of coffee to get me going in the morning, four when hungover. The barista was a young man with thick glasses and an older sister whom he stole concealer off of to hide his acne.

I felt his eyes on me as I entered the café and took my time getting to him. I only had one hundred and forty dollars; every free cup of coffee saved me a buck. He was nervous as I ordered, repeating my order a few times to himself as he stuttered and struggled to meet my eye.

My wallet 'forgotten', the barista gave me my coffee and scone in exchange for a lasting smile and a quick wink. I sat in the back of the restaurant next to the large windows. It wasn't raining per se but it never seemed to be dry in Britton. There was a fine mist in the air, one that didn't soak you unless you spent an hour outside.

I drank my coffee slowly, letting it fill my stomach. The scone was a little hard, probably left over from the day before, but for free it tasted amazing. The café was quiet throughout the time I was there, only a few customers running in to grab a coffee and one elderly woman entering with a book.

I wasn't a reader myself. In fact, I couldn't remember the last time I had read a book from cover to cover. I didn't have the time for heroes and villains. I couldn't convince myself that good always trumped evil—especially when I knew that evil was usually the one to triumph.

The forest loomed from afar, a massive National Park that was no doubt one of the town's best features and the reason I was here. I had been a rogue since I was sixteen—driven out of my pack by my family, I lived as a nomad for a year before I met him. Two and a half years of my life were dedicated to a toxic relationship, along with another six months where I tried to break it off and failed.

I had spent the last year on my own. I couldn't take another year.

I needed stability. I craved it like nothing else in my life. I needed it more than my body wanted water or food, more than my hormones demanded sex, more than my brain craved oxygen.

I needed a pack and given my history with them, I must've needed one pretty fucking badly.

A cigarette dangled from my lips as I walked with my hands buried deep in my pockets. Rain in October meant cold hands and a stiff neck—always. My boots weren't the best for hiking but they had been what I grabbed when I left my ex and I sure as hell wasn't going back to get my running shoes.

People smiled at me as I walked, the small town greeting extending even to a smoking 5'8" redhead sporting all black and a nasty scowl. I strode past them without comment, expecting that in time, they'd learn better.

I hunkered down against the cold as I walked, settling deeper into my thoughts. Though I may give the impression of living life on the cuff, I was a massive planner—which is why it took me six months to leave an abusive lover. I had to plan every aspect of that escape, of my separation from him, and it had taken time.

I had been planning my latest scheme for three weeks. I had found this wayward town after a warning went around the rogue community that this territory was home to a new, temperamental Alpha. While this news sent most wolves running in the opposite direction, tail tucked between their legs, I had a fascination for authority. Not a distaste, just a compulsion to see how far I could push my luck.

A new, young Alpha served me well. Testosterone fueled men were the easiest to manipulate. Poke at their pride, swing your hips low, taunt and tease and you were in. I had scoped out this town, scoped out the woods as carefully as I could and determined that this was as good a place as any to hunker down. Most importantly, it was the last place my ex would ever expect me to settle.

The plan was fairly simple. I tracked the rowdy group of men, all members to the current residing pack, got their leader to inform me about the finer pack details and give me the name of their Alpha. Names were powerful—that much I knew. Spencer Rone was a strong name, one that demanded your attention. Luckily, Vivian McAllister was equal in appeal and power.

I planned to walk onto the pack territory, to be detained by some lowly lookouts, maybe an enforcer or two. They'd growl and snap and threaten, I'd pretend to be lost—demand sanctuary with the Alpha. They'd walk me there, a stern grasp on my upper arm.

The plan all hinged on meeting Spencer Rone. I had to make him desire me, had to make myself seem interesting and alluring. I had to make myself tempting enough to chase despite not being his mate. I had to secure my place at his side if I was going to claim the sort of protection and status I needed.

I swore and threw my cigarette to the ground as the trees approached. I stopped and wrapped my arms around myself, looking at the foreboding pines, the looming oaks. Fuck it. I walked forward until my boots were treading on pine needles, dried leaves and packed earth in lieu of cement.

I might be a planner but I also valued the now or never approach. A paradox, I know.

The woods were thick and lush, moss growing on the base of the trees and forming over boulders half swallowed by the earth. I walked carefully, patting my knife in the waistband of my jeans. It was a comfort to know it was there.

I didn't dare shift. I hadn't shifted since I fled my ex. My wolf's scent was too distinct, too strong. If I walked on four feet the trail I'd leave would last far too long for me to every sleep with two eyes closed. He was too good of a tracker for me to risk it.

The animal inside me snarled and whined, desperate enough to forgo its pride and beg me for release. I hated to refuse, hated to chain up the urges that drove me, hated that I had to deny myself.

The man from the club had been evasive about the pack's whereabouts. Pointing fingers towards this side of the forest, this side of the town. He had told me to walk until I hit a river, told me to keep going until the trees were thick enough to block out the sunlight.

No river yet, but it was definitely dark.

I shivered and cursed myself for foolishly choosing my leather jacket over the thick winter sport one I had. Fashion was one of my weaknesses and now I was paying dearly as I shook. Shivering was not a good look and it sure as fuck wasn't going to help me attract a powerful Alpha.

I held my breath as I listened for a river. I couldn't hear any rushing water. In this form, my senses were heightened by still dull in comparison to the access I had in my other form. Any scents I could pick up as a human was weak and watery.

"I'm going to throttle that guy," I said to myself bitterly. My anger only encouraged my headache. I rubbed my temples roughly as I went through every swear word I knew in my head.

I heard the rustle of leaves and jumped back as two deer burst through the thick wood, running with wild eyes and clumsy legs. I hurried out of their way, knowing that crazed look, knowing that they wouldn't hesitate to trample me if I were in their way.

They were being hunted.

I grinned.

The wolves followed a few seconds later, slowing as they neared and caught my scent. I flipped my hair over my shoulder and adjusted my shirt, getting ready to strike. I had to execute this perfectly—an opportunity of this nature wouldn't be coming around again anytime soon.

The wolves growled as they approached. There were three of them, all three male. Typical. Werewolves had the infuriating habit of excluding women from protection detail despite their insistence to run patrol and maintain borders. This tendency however, made my job easy.

I threw my hands up, my shivering adding to the angle I was playing. "Thank the Goddess!" I nearly sobbed. "I feel like I've been walking for hours. P-please take me to you're A-Alpha."

The wolves growled lowly, tails brushing the forest floor as their hackles raised. The closest one inhaled then peered back at the other two, giving a subtle nod of his head. I was a werewolf, I could be trusted—albeit temporarily.

I caved my shoulders in relief. "Thank you so much," I said, angling my chest to their eye level. The wolf in the back raised its muzzle. "It's freezing out here and—"

One of the wolves gave a sharp bark and we were walking. I stumbled forward, my boots sinking into the moss covered earth. I was used to dry, sparse forests. The dense, wet vegetation was new to me. The animal inside me yearned to explore, to chart out a new ecosystem.

I heard the sound of a river and grinned to myself, dipping my head so my hair hid my smile. I had to admit, it was disheartening to think that my threats had been idle—that despite the knife I held to the man's throat, he had been able to lie. The river reinstated my confidence. I was still threatening.

The wolves shifted when we neared their headquarters, none of them paying much mind to the following nudity. I sure as hell didn't mind. While I enjoyed human men, there was something to werewolf kind that was undeniably more attractive. Perhaps it was their comfort with nudity or maybe—just maybe—it was the gene that made each body lean, muscular and absolutely equipped.

All three men were near six foot or over. Each man was somber and quiet, their eyes rarely shifting my way. I was annoyed by that. I was used to attention and if I were being honest, I revelled in it. I wanted their eyes on me, wanted their lust and their desire.

"Thank you again—"

"Save it for the Alpha," the one in the front quipped. He was wildly attractive with narrow dark eyes, chiselled features and a complexion I couldn't help but envy. Half Asian and fully handsome, I'd let the front man do whatever he wanted—

I had to focus.

"Your Alpha—"

"Will deal with you when we're at the pack house," the front man answered sternly, deep voice smooth and genteel. I had to suppress a predatory grin as I let my eyes slip down his body. Handsome he was.

I sucked in a breath. "What's the name of this pack?"

"No more questions," another one snapped. I looked his way and regretted it. As soon as I laid eyes on him I knew he was mated, therefore he was the most likely to be suspicious. Built like an ox shacked up with a skyscraper, the dude was not someone I was willing to mess with—pocket knife or not.

I let my eyes drift past the boulder with arms and legs and inspected the last man. He wasn't looking my way and so I didn't inspect him for long. Not nearly as handsome as the front man, nor as confident it would seem. He walked with his shoulders tilted inwards, his face drawn downwards. He had curling black hair that just grazed his shoulders and a long, thin scar that cut through one eyebrow.

I turned back to the handsome one in front, looping my stride so it matched his. "What's your name?"

He shifted uncomfortably, distancing himself without much subtlety. I wanted to smile again but fought it, keeping my eyes as doe-like as I could. That small movement told me everything I needed to know. He didn't know he was handsome; didn't know he was womanizer waiting to happen. That gave me an edge.

I bumped my shoulder against his. "Come on, surely your Alpha wouldn't mind if you told me your name?" He met my eyes and I dazzled him with a grin.

"Daniel," he said gruffly.

"It's nice to meet you, Daniel," I replied, "Vivian."

We lapsed into silence then but I could feel Daniel's eyes on me after that. Just a quick glance out of the corner of his eye, checking on the space between us, checking to see if I was also peeking. I felt his gaze and looked over, sending him a quick wink and smile. He blushed and looked away quickly.

A large, Victorian style house cut through the trees ahead. It wasn't in the best shape—old and worn with peeling white trim and a porch that looked half rotted. I tried to hide my shock. Most wolves prided themselves with a clean, controlled territory.

"The Alpha is in there," the quiet one said, nudging his chin towards the large house. I raised an eyebrow, tilting my head as I listened. The property was strangely devoid of noise and activity. Where was the bustle of the pack? Where were the elders hanging laundry and the children playing tag? Where were the snotty teenage brats and the entitled enforcers?

"In there..." I said, looking back at the house. Every window was dark.

Daniel nodded, concealing something in his eyes. "Yes."

Something was nagging at the back of my head. "I don't think—" When I turned around, all three had shifted and trotted off.

If I had been confused before, now I was darn right incredulous.

What kind of pack deserted a strange wolf in the heart of their land?

My breath stopped high in my throat when I caught the sound of laughter. A small thrill ran through me as I realised the house wasn't quite as deserted as I had previously thought. I eyed the Victorian again, wondering if it would be better to chance it back in the forest. Surely after some stumbling, I'd be able to find Britton again.

The house loomed over me, almost as though it were breathing down my neck, daring me to enter. I heard a few more peels of laughter and took a deep breath. I needed to seduce this Alpha—needed to get a place with this pack, even if it was a little...unconventional.

I crossed the yard and tried the stairs. They creaked but held, the planks not rotted the entire way through. I held my fist up the door and paused, wondering whether knocking was the appropriate course of action.

Fuck it.

"Hello?" I called out as I entered the house. The front hall was dark, the walls dirty and the ceilings water stained. This was not the manicured house of an Alpha. This was a shithole.

"Through here." The voice caught me by surprise—it sounded familiar. I set aside my anxieties and walked through the house, clocking every crack in the drywall, every web in the corner, every bug I saw curled and dead on the hardwood.

I turned a corner, assumingly into the living room, and stopped dead in my tracks. There was no furniture in the room save for a few lawn chairs that were currently being occupied by the rowdy group I had stalked into the bar. They were lounging around, each drinking a beer and passing around a smoke.

In the very center, grinning like a maniac, was the man I had threatened in the club.

"Well, well," he cooed, "welcome to my territory."

I recoiled, physically taking a step backwards. "No," I blurted. This wasn't right. I had tracked this group for weeks. While this man was definitely the leader of their little group, he was not an Alpha—that much I was sure.

With a grunt he stood, maintaining eye contact with me as he chugged his beer. "Hello again, gorgeous," his eyes dropped down to my chest and lingered there while he swayed on his feet. "I'm Alpha Rone." He belched.

"Impossible," I snapped. I was well aware now how much shit I was in. If this guy really was the Alpha than I was standing in the heart of his territory and from the look on his face and the faint scratch on his neck, he still hadn't forgiven me for the feigned interest and the threatening and the slicing of his neck and thigh.

He grinned lazily at me. "Why is it not possible? Am I not man enough? Do I not hold your attention now, bitch?"

I bristled. "You know how I feel about that word," I said, sliding my knife from my waistband. I could feel the animal stirring inside me, waking up her muscles as she prowled inside of my mind, pacing as she growled. If I had to, I'd fight—and I was known to fight dirty.

The man took two quick steps forward, trying to spook me. He grinned when I didn't move. "Balls of steel on you," he complimented, "too bad I've got to mess up that pretty face."

I gripped my knife tightly in my hand. "I'm going to cut off your balls and then—"

"Enough." The voice was quiet, demanding all the attention in the room. The drunk man sneered, lifted up his lip before he stumbled back into his lawn chair. I turned around, eager to see who had joined us.

It was the quiet man with the long dark hair and the scar on his face. He hovered at the doorway, his eyes downcast. His mouth twitched slightly before he spoke again. "What do you want, Vivian McAllister?"

I tried not to let the fact that he knew my full name jar me. "I—I wanted to speak to the Alpha." I inspected the quiet man closer, my mind racing to a hundred different conclusions. He was tall, maybe 6'3" with calloused hands and sun-touched skin. Stubble grazed his jaw, more neglect than fashion. His eyes, which he kept downwards, were a peculiar shade of blue—almost indigo.

"I'm Spencer Rone," the quiet man stated. I whipped around to glare at the man from the bar. He only shrugged and cracked another beer open. I took a moment to compose myself before turning around and smiling widely. This was my target.

"Alpha Rone," I greeted, "I'm—"

"You're wasting your time," he interjected, voice rough and broken. "Whatever it is you want with my pack, you're mistaken—whatever rumours you've heard, they're wrong."

I frowned. "I'm not—"

"This pack is not accepting new members," he said curtly, eyes still on the floor. I felt like he was looking right through me. "We are certainly not taking in rogues with the habit of teasing and threatening men."

Behind me, the drunk man from the bar laughed. I gritted my teeth. Of course he told Rone, of course he would tell his Alpha that some random woman came asking for him. That was a flaw in my plan—admittedly, I had been halfway through a bottle of Smirnoff when I thought that part up.

"I'm not looking to join—just to talk and maybe—"

"I'm not interested in what you offer," the Alpha said quietly.

I felt like I had been stripped bare. This man hadn't even met my eye but he had seemingly saw through my entire scheme. I felt guilty at that moment, ashamed—the feeling I loathed the most in the world.

"You may leave my territory," Alpha Rone mumbled, "do not return."

"Yeah, don't come back, bitch," the drunk man yelled behind me. I flipped my knife over in my hand, my nerves stretched thin. That guy was about to see how much of a bitch I could be.

"I'm not here to cause trouble I just wanted—"

"You wanted to take advantage of a pack in transition. You heard there was a new Alpha and you thought I'd be lenient and let you in without vetting." The Alpha tucked his hands behind his back, mouth twitching into a smile. "Unfortunately, you've been misinformed."

I held my breath as he lifted his eyes to mine. I didn't feel anything at all—I was completely numb. My heart had stopped thumping against my ribs, my lungs still with stagnant air. His stare stopped my body of its normal functions.

His eyes tightened slightly, mouth twisting into a small frown as he realized the same thing I did.

We were mates.

Fuck.