Alternative Alpha

Chapter Twenty-Five

He finally received word of a follow up plan to the failed attack at the school he was never told would happen. And again, the new plan did not involve him. Told to stay at the mansion, he was doing just that while failing to get any sleep. His mind was too active with anticipation of what sort of news story would circulate tomorrow. Also, his emotions were on a roller coaster of scary proportions. He was feeling every which way about everything, and he did not like it.

"Oh, Konnor," he said as he smacked the heel of his hand against his temple. "Stupid, stupid boy."

In his mind, he was forever nineteen. He never had as much time for deep thinking before coming there, but lately he had come to realize that mental age was a precarious matter. He was bound to its immutable quality the same as a nose is to a face. Definitely, more so than a gun, which he had not possessed in a long time, in his hand.

He was raised with the instruments, and had one in his grasp practically from birth. The rattle in his crib was gun shaped. Much as the cross was the most prominent figure in America, their divine community heavily featured the form of a gun. They did not wear it around their necks, because having the actual equipment in their hands was quite meaningful on its own.

The biggest danger in the world was not having a readily available gun. When he first arrived there, he was always nervous. How could he possibly protect himself if he was ever discovered? Unqualified in handling sharp knives, except as culinary tools, he was useless in a deadly confrontation. And werewolves were deadly, no doubt about it.

Specialty bullets, as he was once allowed to witness, could incapacitate and destroy the enemy. It was the one time they had managed to capture a live one, when he was still a kid, and years of study were conducted before putting down the cursed creature.

Behind safety glass, at the age of ten, he had been allowed to watch. Although the creature had endured years of torture, was physically weak, it still resembled a formidable foe when it was released from its cage. The bullets tore through its flesh and left it writhing on the floor where its high pitched whine penetrated his young mind before it died.

That whine scarred him for a short while, until his father had a talk with him that fixed his perspective. Dangerous animals had to be taken down. It was their imperative, with the guns at their disposal, to ensure the safety of humanity. That was their world. It only belonged to animals willing to be submissive to the rightful human rule, and werewolves were anything but subservient.

Something that still confused him was that their community did not seem to know about vampires and other mythological creatures that existed around the world. Having learned the Intel shortly after his arrival, he sent it to his superiors. Never did hear a word back about it. Not even an order to learn more. Just an order to stay and wait for a signal of progress.

"Wait, wait, wait," he says with a sigh. "That's all I've been doing."

Well, that and cooking. He yawned and then a knock came at the door.

"Who is it?" he asked as he got out of a bed that was not being used for sleep that evening.

"You know who," came Gare's gruff voice from the other side of the door.

He was not expecting an appearance tonight, especially that late, but he opened the door anyway.

"Aren't you supposed to be in the city, celebrating or something?" he asked as he made his way toward the window to look out at the city lights.

A regular visitor to the city for fresh supplies, he was as devoted to the technology there as he was to gun ownership. It was sad that a society that could be advanced in so many wonderful ways had lost its way by banning guns. But he and his people were willing to make people see reason again.

His eyes refocused to movement reflected in the glass of the window. The taller figure, after closing the door, was approaching him from behind. As vigorously as he tried to guard himself against feeling a certain way, the emotions always overwhelmed him anyway. There was nothing wrong with it, even according to his community, but it was the who of it that made him feel guilty.

The first touch, of heavy breathing on the back of his neck, sent a pleasurable shiver up his spine. The next touch was big hands at his sides, hands that glided across his naked flesh to rest on his stomach and left pectoral. More touching led to soft lips against the side of his neck where a kiss was planted. Strong arms pressed him into a warm embrace where his butt bumped into the hardness of a large bulge.

He tried to keep mind and body separate during intimate activities, for the sake of the job, but he was absolutely in love with the guy. It being a werewolf, his community would disown him, but there was a chemistry between them he was powerless to ignore from day one. And the one aspect he had not been trained for involved relationships of biological affection.

But certainly they expected such an encounter might happen, right?

"You always smell so good," whispered Gare against his neck. Following an electrifying lick, the wolf continued, "And you taste good."

"Charmer," he said breathlessly as a big hand lowered itself and fondled a growing organ between his legs.

A loud explosion lights up the dark sky above the city. All he could do, as he was held in the arms of his lover, was stare wide eyed at the mushroom cloud that formed as a result of an attack most likely caused by his community.