The two had scrapped with each other since cubhood, and now that they were both competing for the official title of Alpha, tensions were at an all-time high. Cliff had technically been Alpha for years, while their father slowly drank himself to death, but now their father had died, they had to make it official. That meant they had to go through a specific set of trials, according to the pack charter, which had been written three hundred years ago.
Grant walked into the room and stopped in front of Cliff’s desk.
“You speak moron every time you open your mouth.” Grant had a lazy, insolent grin on his face. “An Alpha proposing to his mate and being turned down is blatantly advertising that he isn’t fit to lead his pack. Dominus genes or no.”
“Says the man who can’t even remember the name of the latest bimbo he woke up with this morning,” Cliff scoffed.
“Her name is Candy.” Grant frowned. “Pretty sure. Something that ends in an “i”‘‘ sound.”
A slim, athletic blonde strode into the room. She was wearing a body-hugging pink lycra dress with a scoop neck, and pink spike heels that easily added six inches to her height.
“No, it’s Mandy,” the beautiful blonde corrected him as she walked up to Grant. She didn’t look the least bit put out that he’d gotten it wrong. Why should she? She was dripping in gold chains that had undoubtedly been purchased for her by Grant.
“Of course it is,” Cliff said, shaking his head. “Wasn’t your last girlfriend named Bambi?”
“No, that was Sandy,” Mandy corrected him. “She’s my cousin.”
“She is?” Grant looked surprised.
“For the love of…” Cliff let out a groan of exasperation. Grant was really outdoing himself these days. For him, it was definitely quantity, not quality.
“There’s a difference between being single and being rejected by one’s intended mate. No one has ever said no to me.” Grant shook his head in mock pity.
“And why would they?” Mandy giggled and stroked his arm. “You’re rich and you’re huuuuge.” She glanced at Cliff. “And I don’t just mean his biceps. Although they’re huge too. I mean—”
“Stop,” Cliff ordered her.
She transferred her attention to Grant. “Baby, it’s beenhours,” she said. “Are we going to? I mean, it’s been hours since we—”
“I know what you mean,” Grant said. He threw an arm around her waist, winked at Cliff, and sauntered out of the room.
Cliff watched them with contempt as they left.
Grant was a party boy. All flash and no substance. The only reason he wanted to claim the position of Alpha of the Bronson Pack was because Cliff wanted it, and anything that Cliff wanted, Grant went after. Just like they were boys again, scrapping for attention from their mother.Look up from your drink, Mommy. Can’t you see I just beat Grant at catch?
It was stupid, because their uncle Jerrold had showed up and was also gunning to be Alpha of the Bronson pack.
Everybody knew that Jerrold would be a nightmare as Alpha. The Bronson brothers should have been standing together to save their pack, but instead they were at each other’s throats. Cliff had tried to extend an olive branch, and had been soundly rejected. Well, screw it, no more Mister Nice Wolf.
He shook his head. He had so many fires to put out, he didn’t know where to start.
First off, he needed to figure out what was going on with Taylor.
Technically, she couldn’t reject him. He was the Alpha. When an Alpha told a woman that she was his mate, then she was his mate, damn it.
And yet shehadrejected him. Or rather, she wasn’t acknowledging that she now belonged to him. And unlike Jerrold, he wasn’t the type to force his attentions on a woman. He wanted her to come into his arms of her own accord. Press herself against him, soft and pliant and yielding. He was desperate to make Taylor feel about him the same way he felt about her – half-drugged with want.
Cliff picked up his phone and called Truman, his head of security. He told him to find out everything he could about Taylor. He wanted to know what pack she was from, and what their mating and courting traditions were.
He hung up, still feeling frustrated. He hated to admit it, but it was possible that James was right. He probably shouldn’t have spoken to his intended so abruptly.
He was still in shock that Taylor was a werewolf, and that she was his mate. He’d heard before that when you smelled “‘the one”‘, you knew it immediately. He’d always dismissed that old wives’ tale with scorn. But the second he’d smelled her, he’d known. All his senses had instantly been on alert, blood had rushed to his groin, and he’d barely been able to think straight from wanting her so badly.
That was part of the reason he’d been so irritable with her. He had far too much on his mind to allow himself to be distracted by anything. And he didn’t like feeling vulnerable. Wanting someone, craving someone, made him weak. He had the safety of his entire pack resting on his shoulders. He walked a delicate balance, responsible for the success of his company and the safety of his pack, being a very public figure in a world that could never know about the existence of werewolves.
It was funny – for the past year when he’d talked to Taylor over Skype, he’d always been attracted. He’d found himself making dumb excuses to call her office just so he could look at her face and hear her voice. He especially loved it when she smiled. But he’d never thought it could go anywhere. Unlike his brother Grant, he wouldn’t have meaningless relationships with humans, because he knew it could never end in a mating situation, so why bother? And in Taylor’s case, a fling would only have been asking for heartache when it inevitably ended, so he’d pushed his feelings down hard, brutally suppressing the way his body reacted to her voice, pretending his pulse didn’t pick up speed when he saw the flush of pink on her cheeks.
The fact that she was a werewolf, and unmarked, was an unbelievable stroke of luck. He’d scented it. If she’d been marked, he would have smelled her man on her.
