The Witch's Unconventional Alpha

-ALEC-

I never thought returning to my roots would feel like a massacre.

“There’s nowhere to run, Alec!” Rick’s voice cuts through the trees, silent for a moment only to morph into the soft crunch of damp underbrush as he shifts his path of pursuit, stalking me. As if he stands a chance.

Branches snag my fur as I lope through low-hanging branches and thick brambles coating the forest floor, my legs burning with exertion as I continue to run and try to outpace the wolf who’s been snapping at my heels for the past few months. It’s becoming routine at this point, perhaps a bit dull.

There are no sounds behind me for a tense moment, the crack of twigs gone eerily silent as my gait slows until I’m still on silent paws, moving at a crawl into the darkness so my black fur can blend into the shadows casted by the full moon overhead. Both a beacon and a warning of what is to come.

“You’re in Alpha Halloran’s territory, Alec. There’s nowhere to run!” It’s a goad in its purest form, my family and pack have been gone longer than my deadname, and my blood boils with the thought of ripping this man to pieces at the barb, if only to silence his incessant voice.

I shift back into human form, pulling the wolf back from the surface even though every instinct tells me to continue to run until this coast is left as an afterthought as I had done years ago. But if I continue to run I’ll never stop, I’ve spent lifetimes proving that to myself. And yet I somehow always end up coming back here to the coast. Back to my old life. I’m not sure what I hope for each time I return, but it’s not this; not someone posing as a Halloran when my entire life was burned to the ground here.

“I’m done running,” I growl into the quiet of the night, turning my focus inward and listening for a sign of where Rick may be, a tell to give him away. “Your Alpha is a fucking coward. Or he’d be here himself, not riding the coattails of a long-dead name in his beach house.”

That does it.

“You watch your fucking tongue, rogue! If Alpha Halloran thought you were worth their time they’d be here themselves!”

Got him.

I let the pull of my wolf guide me, dropping onto all fours and shifting until everything is bright and oddly focused, my pursuers smell is easy to pinpoint now that I’ve finally caught it. I move in his direction, silent, and wait for the time to strike.

“You’re a worthless mutt, Alec. Alpha Halloran should've finished you off when he took care of your pack and your mate.” These words are quieter, the smirk on the man’s face evident in his voice, but they ring louder in my head than any others before it. But despite the emotional sting of old wounds, the words give away Rick’s position. Rooky mistake when stalking a seasoned predator. This time, it will also prove fatal.

I can see Rick through the bushes as I stay tucked low to the ground, he’s in human form, naked except for the gun in his hand that smells like wolfsbane and silver, no doubt a last resort to kill me if Rick can’t do it on his own. But he’s left himself vulnerable like this in his pink, human skin, and I plan on taking full advantage.

“Where are you…” Rick murmurs, turning in tight circles, searching, “Piece of fucking shit. It’s cold out here, just die like a good dog and make this easier for all of us.”

A snarl attempts to rip from my throat at the insult, but I bite it back, not wanting to give myself away. I take a deep breath and steady myself to make the killing strike, but as I inhale a scent comes to me on the breeze that unwinds the anger and tension I’ve been carrying for too many lifetimes; it’s honey warm and laced with the salt-smell of the sea. The scent flashes my eyes red, warring with my mind for control of the shift, compelling me to forgo everything and take off after it. I’ve never felt a pull so strong, and instead of a snarl, a soft whine pulls from deep within my chest where the void my mate and pack left many years ago.

It gives me away, Rick turning in my direction and shifting into his wolf, barreling towards me in an attempt to take me by surprise. But he’s young, loud, and inexperienced, and I’ve taken down Alphas of large packs without remorse or hesitation for less. When he’s in range, taking a few large strides to gain momentum to strike, I intercept him, meeting him mid-strike and sinking my teeth into the scruff on his neck and flipping him onto his back, his claws digging into my flanks as he struggles.

I shift back into human skin, Rick’s eyes widening as he realizes what’s about to happen, my reputation preceding me. His flailing increases, rending my skin bloody if only temporarily, and his whines are soft and pathetic past the blood rushing in my ears. With a quick shift of clawed hands, I grip the top and bottom of his muzzle and rip them apart, bones snapping and his body going instantly limp, body shifting back to human form with the bottom jaw askew to the side and blood dripping from his mouth. It’s over, for now.

“It’s been a good run, Rick,” I say to his lifeless body, unable to heal with a bone puncturing his brain, “But there’s something else calling to me, and let’s face it—” I ruffle his hair and give his shoulder a squeeze like an old pal, “You wouldn’t have been able to pull the trigger anyway, you’ve always been soft. So—you’re welcome?”

Rick’s gun is safe to touch on the outside, the bullets made of silver and laced with wolfsbane tucked safely inside, so I disengage it, bullets dropping quietly to damp ground to be overtaken by forest, and then I rip apart the gun with my hands as best as can before dropping it too.

I take a deep breath to steady myself after the adrenaline rush, but the scent from before is stronger now that I picked it up once, almost cloying, and when the ocean breeze catches me in the face it’s even stronger still. I drop to my knees, feeling suddenly, staggeringly weak. Because I remember what that smell is, from lifetimes ago; before I was Alec.

It’s the smell of my mate.

With hands on my knees, I rise, making my way back into the bushes in the area to gather my discarded items. And with a sense of finality in the air, I turn toward the direction of my mate’s scent and continue my travels, leaving the body for someone in the local pack to find in the near future. It’s not my concern right now. The only thing that matters right now, is her.

Murky and dark, I find myself running along the coastline, my paws touching the water when my legs are too tired to carry me in human form. A chorus screams in my head every time I catch her scent again; warm, sea, and mine. Within a few hours of consistent running, I stumble into the outskirts of a small beach town I’ve never seen before, the rickety sign worn by violent sea storms and rain says, ‘Welcome to Driftwood Cove’ in a white, peppy font that hurts to look at for too long.

“I’m getting too old for this,” I stand after shifting, body tired from long days of travel after my last hookup a few towns over, “Hopefully not too old for you.” I muse, walking past the tall sign and into town proper. Windows are dark and the streets are silent and still, the only light on along the main street of the town is what appears to be a dive bar at the end of the road, a few men and women tumbling out the door with arms around one another’s shoulders.

It’s quaint, in a way I’m no longer allowed to be a part of or enjoy.

Her scent hits me again when I make it past the shops and onto side roads, taking me to a few rows of residential houses that smell old, mildew and low tide, mixed with a potent, old magic tugging at my wolf, urging me forward. Her scent is everywhere in town, she’s been here all her life, but it’s strongest here as I stand in front of a pale blue ranch that has absolutely seen better days.

To avoid any issues with law enforcement I shift into the wolf, a wild dog is much less concerning to the police than a young black man peeping into strangers’ houses. The way of the world, even if it’s not entirely my world to begin with. Belongings stashed in nearby shrubs, I take a few laps around the house, pinpointing the scent to a singular window cracked open; the smell is strongest here and a sound like buzzing comes from in the room as well, not electronic, but natural. I recognize the sound a moment later, bees.

It had to be bees.

I whuff a frustrated noise, trying to get my paws on the windowsill to get a peek inside, but, of course, no luck. It’s warded heavily with magic, and my paws can’t even touch it before they’re propelled away quietly and quickly; efficient, familial magic that’s protected this home for generations.

With a quiet drop and a few seconds of stillness, I shift back into human form, daring to take a look inside before I need to shift back, and I catch a glimpse of her. My mate.

I can’t tell much, but from what I can see, she’s nothing like I expected and like everything I need. She smells like home, something I haven’t had in a long time; like beeswax and honey in black tea, the salt spray of the ocean, the musk of sex and human female, and under it all, the miasma of magic. Mine.

I rip myself from the window, and it takes every bit of willpower not to sneak in and tell her she’s my mate so she can share the excitement with me. But I have to be patient, because even though she’s a part of my world, she’s not a wolf, and I’ll need to tread carefully.

Tomorrow, I promise myself. Tomorrow I’ll find her in public and introduce myself, move slowly, show her I can provide, and be a generous lover. And maybe, if she accepts, I can rebuild the pack and family that was taken from me all those years ago.

Tomorrow, for sure.