Two naked alphas in an embrace, caressing one another’s bodies.
Emerson’s jaw dropped, his heart beating faster. He toed the page, turning it with the tip of his boot. Another set of alphas kissing with their hands clutching each other’s hard cocks, just above their thick knots.Hiscock thickened at the sight of them. After slowly sitting on the cabin floor beside the magazine, he used the barest tip of his finger to turn another page. And another.
Alphas together on every one.
Hugging. Kissing. Touching.
Sucking.
Fucking.
Sweat beaded at his brow by the time he came to the page where an alpha had taken another's full, swollen knot inside him. Emerson took in a shaky breath, his cock rock hard and pressing against the inside of his pants. Lowering a hand to cover himself, a wet spot spread against his palm. He closed his eyes tight, furious at himself.
I can’t… this is wrong…
Intimate relationships between alphas were outlawed. Emerson had never really understood why. They were all men—omega, beta, or alpha—what did it matter? Considering the number of omegas born had been in freefall for decades, more and more alphas were turning to betas for satisfaction, and on occasion, more than that. When he’d been a boy, there had been shock and outrage when people spoke of an alpha marrying a beta, but nowadays, those relationships had become commonplace.
Yet alphas together were still illegal. What was the big fucking deal?
He knew the answer. The whole toxic alpha dominance bullshit. An alpha who surrendered to another was considered unworthy of the class distinction. Somehow, he was less of analpha for enjoying the pleasures of his own body—and an alpha who was attracted to that was almost just as bad.
For years, Emerson had questioned himself and his attractions. He’d known that he wasn’t like other alphas. His high school classmates had talked incessantly about fucking omegas andgetting some slick. The whole thing sickened Emerson, especially the way some had spoken of dominating and controlling omegas by force. That wasn’t strength in his mind. Only a weak man wanted to exert control over someone smaller with much less strength.
The idea of being with an omega had never interested Emerson, but he’d played along and pretended he was just one of the alphas. In some ways he was. He was a teenager hopped up on alpha pheromones and puberty hormones. Heconstantlythought about sex and rutting. He was excited by the prospect of getting a man under him—only it wasn’t a soft, yielding omega he wanted there.
He wanted a challenge. He wanted someone hard and firm, and equal to him in strength.
He wanted what he shouldn’t want.
He wanted an alpha.
Emerson had hidden that attraction from the world—including his entire family—and he’d have to continue hiding it for the rest of his life.
His chest tightened at the thought. There would be no mating for him. No family. None of the other things his brothers had been raised to expect.
At least he had the scarcity of omegas working in his favor. With so few born every year, many alphas never found their mate. If he was lucky, he'd be one of those alphas.
Emerson living a life alone might never be questioned because of that.
A life alone…
Emerson closed his eyes and fought back a wave of hopelessness that upset his stomach. He sat there until the sun set, the slow shadows sliding on the cabin wall until darkness filled the room. When it turned cold, he swiped the dampness under his eye and forced himself up onto his feet. Once the magazine was locked back in the cabinet, he wandered out, four full trash bags in hand to add to the eight he’d already carted to the garbage bin in the parking lot.
Later, after a long,longhot shower, he slid into his bunk at the firehouse and tried to sleep. Slumber wouldn’t come. He was almost pleased when the alarm went off. He jumped out of his bed and ran to the firepole, ready to save someone else’s day.
He sure as hell couldn’t save his own.
1
Over a decade later…
The pungent scent of burning wood and plastic filled Dashiell Keller’s nose as he exited his sedan. He straightened his black suit jacket and tie, surveying what was left of the apartment building. Thin wisps of black smoke rose high above. The fire still smoldered. Heat radiated from it—not a massive, crushing wave, but a soft caress to tell you it was still there, still clinging in hopes of roaring to life once more.
Inside, he noticed two men climbing over the remnants, examining things as they went. He marched closer, expecting a fight to come. One of those men was Harrison Walker, the arson investigator for the province—and the man he’d been charged with protecting.
As he neared, one of the men strode over, hand raised in warning. “This is a crime scene. I have to ask you to back up.”
After a quick scan of the man’s uniform, he noticed the embroidered‘Walker’on his deep blue firefighter’s uniform. He opened his mouth but closed it a second later when an identical man, in an identical uniform, stepped out of the charred husk of a building.
