Page 25 of Fated to the Alpha Warrior (The Wolf’s Forbidden Mate #1)
Normally she’s more cautious than this. Something about Jacen seems to have made her reckless in a way that I don’t exactly enjoy.
He brings us to his father’s wide-open kitchen, which has been converted into some sort of casual party space.
Several young shifters are already there, laughing and drinking out of red solo cups.
The solid wood dining room table is covered with party snacks, chips and dips, and open bottles of liquor and mixers.
Taking it all in, I feel more like I’ve traveled to a frat house party in an eighties film than an alpha’s house in a pack under quarantine.
Aurora moves toward the table almost immediately, reaching for an unopened bottle of tequila. “Anejo? Don’t mind if I do.”
I watch her pour herself a drink, squeezing fresh limes and chatting with one of the tipsy female shifters nearby.
Jacen watches her too, his gaze dropping to blatantly check out her ass.
My wolf and I both growl, and I’m thankful when Aurora moves around the table to the other side, blocking her lower half from view.
“What is all this?” Frowning at Jacen, I point out, “I doubt your father would approve.”
“Don’t get your panties in a twist, McCade.
” He drops a meaty hand onto my shoulder, and my wolf’s hackles go up even further.
“We just lost three good shifters fighting crazed mad wolves, and now half our pack is under quarantine on the other side of town to keep this damn thing from spreading. Our alpha is out doing who knows what, and we’ve had to beg near strangers for help.
Doesn’t that sound like the sort of circumstances that justify a little drinking? ”
“I don’t know if that’s?—”
“Unless you’re afraid you can’t hold your liquor.” He smiles at me, his air easy, his wolf brimming just under the surface of his skin. “Let’s have a drinking contest. Truth or dare style. Winner gets to keep his dignity intact.”
I open my mouth to say no—then pause. Jacen smiles at me wolfishly, his eyes moving over to Aurora. She’s coming over toward us with a tired smile, and she holds up her solo cup toward him in a “cheers.”
“After all this time sleeping rough on the road, or on uncomfortable mattresses, I could use some time to unwind,” she says. “Thanks for this.”
“No problem, Rory.” He turns back to me with a raised brow. “Well? We doing this or what?”
“Doing what?” Aurora asks curiously.
“A drinking game,” I tell her. She shoots me a worried glance, but I’m weirdly unable to back down now, so I tell Jacen, “I’m in. Let’s do this.”
What follows is a series of unwise decisions that feel impossible not to make. Jacen pours us both straight bourbon in cups meant to hold beer, not forty proof liquor. Then he needles me with questions and dares until my temper flares with each one.
“Tell me how long you lasted the first time you got that shrimpy little dick of yours inside a wet vagina.”
“I dare you to go over there and punch Caleb in the face without saying anything first—and if the punch isn’t real enough, I reserve the right to punch you instead.”
“Tell me the truth: you cry when you jerk off, don’t you? Admit it, McCade.”
I’m almost immediately divested of my dignity and my sobriety, with no choice but to drink half the time, make a fool of myself the other half, and muddle through trying to come up with questions half as lewd or dares just as dangerous.
Jacen, though, is willing to do most of the things I prompt him to do—including jumping off the roof into his dad’s backyard pool, something he makes look athletic and dignified even after half a bottle of bourbon.
Meanwhile, even my shifter metabolism can’t keep up with the amount of alcohol we’re drinking. Everything inside me loosens bit by bit, until I find myself wrestling with Jacen’s friend Eric in a kiddie pool full of Jell-O.
With each sip of liquor that burns down my throat, my eyes go to her more and more.
The shining gold of her gorgeous blonde hair in the light of the setting sun, then the soft glow of the dining room chandelier.
Her eyes, one blue and one amber, catch my attention.
I’ll never get over the way she looks when she’s embarrassed or overwhelmed, the fan of her thick lashes dipping, a blush rising to her freckled cheeks.
As we move on to group karaoke and rowdy banter, the drinking game forgotten, I can’t get over how she moves.
Each footstep careful, the sway of her hips distinctly feminine.
Her voice as she laughs at a joke one of the other female shifters makes, the stretch of her bare throat as she throws her head back.
I’m drawn to her, finding excuses to mix my drinks next to hers, bumping into others to get to her side.
I can’t believe that we’re here, standing so close together but still so far away. The bond between us is a curse in more ways than one.
“Is something wrong?” She furrows her golden brows at me, a small dimple creasing the corner of her mouth. “You’re looking at me like I’ve got something stuck in my teeth.”
“No, nothing like that.” I can hear the warmth in my voice, can feel the low purr of my wolf, and know I’m in dangerous territory—I just don’t give a shit anymore.
“You’re so beautiful.” I reach out to touch her face, stopping short before I can.
“I’ve always thought so, even when… even when I pushed you away. ”
Pain flashes in Aurora’s eyes, and I feel an echoing ache in my chest through the broken bond.
Suddenly I can’t stop myself anymore. I place my fingers against her cheek, longing to touch her, to close the connection between us.
A rush of warmth goes through me at the contact.
She hisses—at first in pain or shock, I think.
Then my thumb moves over her skin, tracing the edges of her freckles, and she makes a sound like a low whimper. My wolf whines in response, wild.
I’m so close to her now. My eyes fall to her lips, so pink and bare. Her tongue darts out to lick them. In a low voice she says, “You’re drunk.”
“Who isn’t?”
Before she can respond to that, someone rams into me. I curse as I stumble forward, my drink sloshing in my hands. A low growl rises from behind me, and I hear the sound of glass shattering.
Frowning, I try to right myself, reaching for Aurora… and realize that I’m way, way drunker than I knew.
She’s looking at me with concern in her beautiful, mismatched eyes. “Kieran? Are you okay?”
“No,” I tell her, “and I never will be again.”
I want to tell her why: because I regret what I did. It makes my wolf howl every single day, the ache in my chest growing even as it dulls. Being close to her is a singular torture, as is the knowledge that I could fix it all, make it go away, if only things were different.
But they aren’t. And what I’m afraid of, more than anything, is that they never will be. That day five years ago messed everything up, and this is just… how it is now.
I open my mouth to tell her.
But before I can form the words, the world goes black.