An Alpha Approaches

Michael

"Help me, Michael."

I grunted, with her words invading my thoughts. The punching bag jerked as I slammed another punch into it, then another, rocking it against its chain that rang out its protest, but I couldn't stop.

As an Alpha, I was not used to feeling what those words made me feel. I felt compelled to them as if denying that request was an impossibility. I gave orders. I didn't submit to them, and yet those three little words had me going against every sensitive bone in my body. I was not sure if I wanted to demand to know who she was working with or to kiss her because, surely, I couldn't have found this conflicting woman by chance.

The poor punching bag had no chance as I smashed it again, snapping the chain and sending it crashing into the wall. Sand erupted onto my floor and I was too forlorn to care. I grabbed my towel and wiped the sweat from my brow before flinging it over my shoulder, then heading for the kitchen. I nearly reached it when a chill ran down my spine. I growled and sniffed the air.

"What is she doing here?" I grunted, changing course. "Francis?" I called through the mind-link connection.

"Hear her out. She wants to talk with you. I think maybe it might be good for you," he answered back.

What was happening? Though I knew other shapeshifters were real, maybe the world was far more mysterious than I wanted to admit. Perhaps I had been sent a witch to torture me, for she had gotten into the head of my own pack member.

I reached the door just as Francis opened it, ushering her in. She thanked him and came to a halt when she lifted her head and green eyes met mine. She gasped as she gawked at me. The shift in her scent was just enough to alert me of the effect I had on her.

Wanting payback for her absentminded command of my freewill, I straightened, my shoulders expanding, my chest still slicked with sweat towering over her. I raked my fingers through my hair and worked my jaw, keeping the smile off my face as she fought what I could easily read on her face. It was almost like arguing with her over the mere motion, which was if I didn't hate the negative tension that came with it.

"Um, Francis he… um sorry. The car. Drive here," she stammered. She chuckled in embarrassment as I fought to hold onto what drove me from town and into the wood, taking my wolf shape to race home.

"I want to talk with you, please," she finally managed to get out. At some point, I must learn to refuse this woman.

"We can talk in the living room. Let me towel off, and I'll meet you. Francis, a word." I said and turned, expecting him to follow, which he did. Once we were out of earshot of Diana, he started his defense.

"Michael, I know I'm overstepping, but you have to admit she's different," he said, defending himself.

I almost yelled because I knew that she compelled me too, but that would bring up many questions I didn't yet have the answers to myself. I had brought women to my home before, and he had been indifferent to all of them.

"What did you tell her?" I snapped as I entered my spare room. I nearly broke the drawer of my dresser as I searched for a shirt.

"Only what she needed to know, to help her understand you. Why do you push, but she has her reasons as well." Francis spoke honestly and without bias. Sometimes his easy manner was exhausting, especially when he spoke the truth.

I pulled my shirt over my head and faced him. He shrugged his shoulders, unapologetic for his interference.

"She's good for you. Stubborn enough to not lose herself and yet brave enough to stand when others would not," he said, continuing his praise of Diana.

Notes from the piano sounded and it was melody seeping deep within me. I closed my eyes as the music entered me, telling me to hear her out, to give her a chance. Now my possessions were turning against me as well. Still, Francis had a keen eye. She was different; I had known that from the moment I pulled her freezing body from the water.

"That's amazing," Francis sighed. "I've never been moved by music before," he admitted, and I knew that to be true, because though I could recognize talent, I had never felt moved by it--not until Diana stroked the keys of a piano I brought just to complete the room.

I walked out, leaving Francis to marvel at her skills while I prepared myself for our battle of wits. She was sharp and her playing had already put her a peg in the win column.

"You couldn't resist, could you?" I said in the doorway. She spun in the chair, a smile planted on her face.

"Sorry, music calms me," she said. I remembered she mentioned being a violinist, so I made a mental note to order one for her. She stood and smoothed out her blouse, but it was a stall tactic.

"Francis told me about Anna," she started, then sighed. "I didn't mean to scare you."

So that punch in my stomach finally had a name: fear. Fear was a gateway emotion. It could lead people to do either amazing feats or cause them to commit actions that were incomprehensible before fear took over.

"In truth, I sometimes forget to be scared because I know you won't let anything happen to me. And it's crazy because we've just met and relationships that start based on traumatic events are usually doomed, but not that we are in a relationship," she blew out, her eloquent speech falling apart. "What I mean to say is I want the protection, but I don't want you to stop me either. Can we figure this out together? Keep your secrets, for now, as long as you know I'll learn them sooner or later."

I knew she had finished when she raised her toes and rocked a bit before settling. She didn't shy away from my gaze, but instead confronted me, putting the ball in my hands. I wanted to undermine her excuse for fighting me, but I got it. I wanted my pack to have free will and yet still heed my orders. It was a strange place to find oneself, wanting restrictions and control at the same time.

I was not good with words in moments like these; I was expecting some yelling and screaming, but this bumbling mess of 'I'm going to do what I want, and if you want to protect me then get on board' actually worked. I closed the gap between us and hugged her. She wrapped her arms around me and sighed into my chest.

"You stubborn woman," I grunted.

"You controlling man," she mocked me. I chuckled, my body rocking hers and her scent changed again. I pulled back and stared down at her.

"Are you staying for dinner?" I asked. She smiled at me and nodded. Unable to part from her, I wrapped my arms around her shoulders and led us from the room.

The dinner was quick, and she kept the conversation light, despite the pile of papers Francis must have left on the table. We talked well into the night, and she decided to stay over.

After calling her grandmother, I took her to the room, wanting to share her space for as long as I could. As she changed in the bathroom, I pulled the covers back. I hadn't slept in here since she left, her scent overwhelming. She returned, once again, in my shirt. She knelt on the bed and towered over me.

"I really am sorry," she said, looking down at me, giving me a perspective that I was not accustomed to. She hesitated, and the urge to kiss her again nearly won out, but for once she pulled back.

"Will you stay?" she asked. I nodded, unable to speak. Getting under the covers, I watched as she drifted off to sleep, debating whether I should kiss her awake and accept her apology while giving my own.