The ALPHA & His Destined Mate

The wind swirls around an alluring feminine figure, forcing the rain into her face so that it slaps at her cheeks. She is small, short, and slender, her eyes a dazzling green that glows like emeralds. However, large spectacles cover their amazing beauty, with lenses that reduce her eyes' brilliance and hue. Her silky, wavy hair is a stunning red, cutting off abruptly at the shoulders, giving her a youthful face to match her juvenile figure.

She is seated, her thin clothing sticking to her moist flesh as the rain pounds even more determinedly on her shape, on the muddy ground. Thunder roars over her head, crackles of lightning striking the air. All she sees is darkness. For her, there is nothing but darkness.

She knows she is at risk of dying. The lightning is close, and if one tree catches on fire, the whole forest will burn. She has nowhere to hide if that happens, no one to call for aid. Her cell phone lies beside her, dead from the steady water shower. However, it is easy for her to keep calm.

Life is no longer essential to her, so she does not care if she sizzles away.

A solitary tear evacuates her eye, gliding down her face, joining the torrents of water that rush down her body. A living nightmare surrounds her, the awful breeze pounding the rain into random destinations, the plants trembling. A tree is near to toppling on her, leaning her way, uncomfortably close to breaking free from its trunk.

She scarcely recognizes that she is crying heavily, her tears accompanying the storm's efforts to make her as uncomfortable as possible. She feels dirty, the muck giving her a horrible feeling in her stomach. On a whim, she desires a hot shower, with warm steam engulfing her.

Movement is impossible for her.

She wants to finish it here. Right now. It would be so easy... so pleasant as the miseries of life would slip away. She wonders why God gave her the ugly face, the infantile figure, and the snooty attitude that made so many people detest her.

Why does she have to be the unlucky one?

Now she cannot see, the rain blinding her. Her spectacles drop off her nose, sliding to the ground, the glass immediately sinking into the dirt. Unbelievably, the water starts to pour even harder from the frenzied heavens, the temperature lowering by the second. Goosebumps develop on her arm. Her breaths become apparent, clouds emerging in wisps just in front of her.

The cold grows worse.

She glances at the ground, uncertainty on her features. Is she ready to let herself die here? Is it time for her to exit this world?

A little sliver of fear enters her thoughts.

She understands instantly that these may be her last breaths. She tries to relish each of them, reaching with a delicate hand to attempt to grab the clouds that lingered before her. The question pounds in her skull, making her dizzy.

Is she ready to die?

The thunder draws closer, the clouds overhead splitting a little. Through the crack in the clouds, she can see a full moon. She stares at it, astonishment blazing through her at its beauty. It certainly is a magnificent sight, the perfect circle illuminated by pure white light, the only incandescence currently in her universe. It is symbolic of hope to her, hope that she will carry on. Hope that everything will be okay.

Suddenly a hard rock pounds on her shoulder. She gasps in pain, her shoulder hurting from the collision.

The moon evaporates as the gloomy clouds steal it away from her.

Another object lands on her knee, and the same discomfort reoccurs. The child remains in her position, pain etched on her face. She grabs the unusual pebble, holding it near to her eyes so she can view it. Her eyes expand.

"Hail," she whispers as another rock comes rushing towards her. It is large, roughly the size of a nickel, plummeting at an unbelievable pace. It is aimed towards her head.

She sees it approaching, an astonishing ball of energy, ready to give the fatal blow. She is frozen. Death is finally coming to take her away. This is what she wants, right? She should be happy. Deliverance from the pain, the continuous suffering, is arrived.

The fear is the thing that is taking away her happiness.

There is a brief quiet, and then there is a howl in the night as the awful ice rock clamors to reach its goal.

***

He can hear it. Its increased respiration pounds in his ears, suggesting its proximity.

He ventures closer to the presence, the creature that dares to be in his area at this time. It is a horrible time for the intruder, whatever it is, for tonight he is at his strongest.

Tonight is the night of the wolf.

He is alone, but that is just right. He works better while alone.

It is a horrific storm, the rain hitting his back, nearly driving him to collapse. He wonders why it is trying to trespass in this dreadful weather. The wind rips leaves from their perches on trees and hurls them furiously into the air, lightning flashing over his head. There is practically a constant roar, almost breaking his focus. He shakes his head, trying to wave away the storm's efforts to distract him. His paws crunch the grass beneath him as he ventures farther into the jungle. Trees loom before him, throwing their dark shadows across his furry figure. Danger is in every direction. But he does not hesitate.

He is fearless.

The presence is growing stronger, the breeze carrying the aroma to his nose. It is a lovely aroma, one he has never smelt before; a peculiar mix of strawberries, bananas, some taste he cannot distinguish, and a tiny dash of mint. thing is a thrill, an irresistible smell that he will remember forever, even when this "it" is long dead. He had never experienced this odor near a werewolf before.

This smell is so lovely, that he wonders if a human could have come into their midst. Humans often have wonderful odors, although none as delightful as this one.

He feels like something is... connecting him to this smell. A longing suddenly starts to fill him, a want to edge closer to the source. This pull is persistent, and he feels himself sliding even harder into the domain of lust. He begins to crave this peculiar smell, and his paws start to move by themselves. He does not need to track it, for something about the fragrance is driving him directly towards it. He begins to suspect that this beast would be a difficult thing to destroy.

Killing it might not even be an option, for he believes that if he does, he will lose his sanity.

It already entices him and asks him to approach closer. The smell invigorates him even more as he comes closer to his prey, creating a web around him till he will never be able to escape. He is the fly, and it is the spider. A sad sensation gathers in the pit of his stomach as he realizes that he is helpless.

What sort of prank is this wily creature playing?

The perfume is extraordinarily strong now, nearly overwhelming him with its loveliness. To werewolves, fragrance is everything, and they experience lovely aromas every day. Nothing, though, amounts to this exquisite emanation that makes his head whirl with dizzy ecstasy. He feels like he is getting near.

Suddenly, the aroma turns bittersweet, a harsh note distorting the song. Fear and terror infiltrate the aroma, making the sugary quality go away and polluting the smell he craves so deeply. Now, a foul stink permeates the air, and the horror the creature is feeling fills him also.

Somehow, he can detect the feelings it is experiencing from its smell. However, the terrible aspect is that he begins to feel the same feelings it does. The smell now is still intoxicating, but filled with need. It needs him.

Want soon penetrates his body. He wanted to experience that smell once again, but not the one it was currently releasing. He wants to make it happy, so the taste of dread would fade from the perfume. He desires that specific sweetness with a passion he never knew he possessed.

His paws start to blur as they race through the woodland so fast that even he can hardly see them move. The need is surging through him, intensely distorting his thoughts till all he can think of is the scent. He needs to have it.

He finds a little clearing, near a thin brook that spills into Lake Felix a couple of kilometers away. It is a gorgeous little place, with exquisite flowers and green plants, the trees graceful and towering. The perfume is strong here. The creature must be in this vicinity.

His eyes hunt for it, looking for the wicked thing that managed to emit such an enticing smell. At first, it is nowhere to be seen. But once he adjusts his eyes a little, he detects a figure in the mud. It is a tiny thing, a small form covered in the thick muck, only a slender back seen from his angle.

He suspiciously circles the thing, attempting to make out its features. It is hard to detect, the muck camouflaging it in the dirt. When he travels right in front of it, though, his heart stops beating.

Though not an extraordinarily gorgeous creature, it is nonetheless the most beautiful thing he has ever seen.

It is a human female, with dazzling green eyes that have a captivating appeal to them, pulling at him, never releasing his stare. Her hair is a ruby red, flowing to her shoulders, the rain making it moist and lustrous. Her figure is petite but shapely, the rain merging her ragged garment into her form.

A searing flash of pain encircles his heart as he realizes what is happening, the beats getting quicker. He begins to become panicked. Is this happening? Why now? Why, with a human like her?

But nature refuses to listen to his appeals, binding him even closer to the young woman. This could not be true.

A flash of bright light pours forth, engulfing his being, then racing to meet the female. It seeps into her skin, drenching her with the white light. She doesn't notice, her eyes clouded with tears, peering at her toes.

He is affected, however. The awareness that he has just done something wrong shocks him, making his whole body shiver.

Shock, as much as rage and frustration, runs through his body. Nothing good can come of this. Nothing at all.

However, the hesitancy evaporates as he watches her. As it begins to take effect, he feels himself slipping into a bottomless pit of everlasting love. There is no going back. He is entangled in the enticing spider's web forever.

Suddenly, another taste of dread explodes in the scent. Hail is beginning to fall, and he can tell that she has been hit. Her eyes, as she looks up, are listless. She stares beyond him as if she doesn't notice he is even there. Painful tears escape her, spilling down her form. A little wound on her leg emits dark beads of blood. He suddenly feels the desire to protect her, to guard her. What is he doing, just standing here? He needs to move!

A little scream escapes her, screaming into the night as a large piece of hail comes rushing towards her. Her eyes slam shut, horror engulfing her. The scent is engulfed by terror, terror he has to erase if he wants to feel that pleasure again. He jumps immediately, trying as fast as he can to land over her figure to protect her.

He makes a primal cry as he soars to be her shield.

~ Isla ~

I wake, my eyes flickering as they focus on the light surrounding me. All I can see is a single blob hovering above me, a flurry of colors flipping and weaving, twisting and turning.

"Are you awake?" a lovely, melodic voice bursts through the vacuum I am stuck in, bringing me to the present with a bang. Everything instantly swings into focus, the blurring edges sharpening into plainly distinguishable pictures.

Am I dreaming?

A breathtakingly attractive man stares at me, his piercing green eyes frightening me with their brightness. I feel myself become caught in them, analyzing their marvelous beauty, imprisoned in their stunning stare.

His complexion is brown and muscled, his arms bulging, his hands powerful and hard. Wearing a t-shirt and cargo shorts, he is dressed simply, yet he has an elegance that can't be articulated.

Straight and long, his hair cuts off at his jawline, framing his face with pride. Layers are all over the place, small wisps accompanied by lengthy strands, carelessly disheveled. The bangs make me unconsciously want to brush them away so I may look evermore into his eyes with no interruptions.

The weirdest thing about his hair, though, is that it is blue. A royal blue, even, that glows in the sunlight. But the hair fits him, complimenting his softly tanned complexion and emerald eyes.

"Hello?" he says again, his voice comforting to my ears. I blink once, attempting to acclimatize to the astounding handsomeness before me. A man this handsome has never been within five feet of me before.

Finally checking myself, I realize that my leg is not bleeding anymore, wrapped with a thick bandage. My shoulder is coated accordingly.

I am resting on a lovely, plushy divan. The floor is of solid marble, a deep black with traces of white trying to press its way into the tile. An enormous chandelier, crystals swirling abundantly just below its metal limbs, hangs lightly on a slender, Felix wire in the center of the chamber. There is an astounding collection of volumes, a big bookshelf reaching from wall to wall.

But, of course, all my attention concentrates on the man.

He chuckles as I scan his face yet more, taking in his beauty, looking at male traits that, at my school, I used to only be able to watch from afar.

I cough once, attempting to croak some words out of my lips. "Shh," he says, cupping his palm over my lips, "your throat is probably dry. Let me fetch you some water first." His hand seems so familiar, and I feel, strangely, heartbroken when he pulls it from my face.

As he wanders over to a stainless steel sink, I am unable to discern a single emotion communicated in his saunter. He seems to glide, walking in a way that's virtually difficult to explain.

That is merely one of the unusual things I notice about him.

Another thing that stimulates my curiosity is his eyes. When I skimmed over it previously, I hadn't noticed the reflection of the light onto his pupils.

Now, when I more closely examine, I discover there is no reflection. The light doesn't bounce off his eye, but rather, seeps into it. It is hardly perceptible, even by me, the queen of inspection, but I now clearly see the difference. The vivid, emerald green seems to seize the light and showcase it in his irises, his pupils a deep black in contrast. When I glance at them, and he returns my sight, my figure is not evident in his pupil.

He brings a chilled glass of crystal clear water to my lips, softly pouring it into my mouth. "Can you speak?" he prodded.

"Yes," I almost whisper.

"Okay, good," he smiles warmly.

I suddenly find it hard to speak. "T-thanks for s-saving me," I stammer. He lets out a melodious chuckle, the most beautiful one I've ever heard.

"It was a pleasure."

I feel self-conscious; abruptly disconcerted by the way he is examining my face, my body. I start to feel anxious when I meet his look, merely one glimpse at his lovely, appraising eyes triggering butterflies in my stomach. The urge develops to avoid this unusual, foreign conduct towards me, to return to the orphanage and work on that scientific project I didn't accomplish before because I feared I would die today.

I swiftly sit up, my back reposed on the plush cushions, and then I attempt to swing my legs over the edge.

Before I succeed in dumping my feet on the floor, though, he catches my legs and places them back on the couch, the hint of a smirk in the corner of his mouth. I feel a thrill of joy when he touches them, his fingers lingering a bit before drawing away. "Just what do you think you are doing?" he demands, somewhat laughingly.

"Leaving." I decided to tell him the truth. "Thanks again for the help."

His eyes widen, "But you can't simply leave! We have to find out more about each other! I don't even know your name."

He is so different from any guy I've encountered. He truly seems like he wants to know more about me. His stare tugs at mine, his expression of despair. If I didn't know better... I'd think that he likes me, or at least my appearance.

But, the issue is, I know better. Being loved is a luxury reserved for more beautiful individuals than me.

I shoot up so swiftly my movement is practically a blur, disregarding the anguish that my moves are inciting within my injuries. The joke is finished. "Well, apologize. I'm leaving," I say angrily. Why does my rudeness have to come out at a moment like this? I need to focus on my social skills. He did save my life, after all.

I suppose his conduct is worrying me. The way he is honestly staring at me, with so much dedication, is unnerving and weird. It is like nothing I've ever experienced before, and, honestly, I have never been more terrified in my life.

I start heading to the door, my somewhat damp red hair blowing in the gentle breeze. Maybe this is all just a dream. Maybe in a couple of minutes, I will wake up to realize that the man is simply a fabrication of my mind.

"Please stop!" I hear his calming, hypnotizing voice, but I manage to shake his demand from my head. He can't persuade me to keep on with this joke any longer. He is only messing with me by appearing to be interested, in getting a big laugh out of his pals later. However, as I continue to walk, there is a haze, and suddenly...

He is standing directly in front of me, blocking the entrance.

How did he do that? He had been standing more than 10 feet away from me previously.

I become like a sheep that has been pushed into a corner. "What are you? What do you want from me?" I implore, my eyes boring through his, appealing urgently.

His eyes spark at my words, then, curiously, he wears a resigned face. "Come, sit down while I explain."

He brings me back over to the divan, and I gingerly sit down upon it. I have to say, no matter how odd this seems, I am embarrassingly delighted to spend a few more seconds staring at his attractive face. However, I try not to reveal it, instead exhibiting a suspicious frown.

He takes a big breath and then says. "My name is Liam, and I am what you would call a werewolf."

Shock and incredulity race through my head, chilling me to the bone. Oh, what a tragedy, I thought unhappily, this extraordinarily attractive guy, the only one that's ever talked to me, is a freak. I can see he believes his ridiculous statements too. His eyes are straining to catch my glance.

"Werewolves don't exist," I tell him softly as if he is a kindergartener. I know he doesn't deserve my scorn, but... really?

"Are you saying I don't exist?" he says, angry. I can't help but notice how cute he looks when he is annoyed, and I wonder whether I want to wake up from this dream.

"No, although you might need to go talk to a counselor or something about some mental problems," I quickly snap, then instantly desire to take back my harsh comments. For me, insults are default, practically encouraged by people's equally disdaining response.

He appears agitated now, a slight pout on his thick lips, streaks of his blue hair falling into his eyes. The funny thing is, he doesn't seem to be upset or even bothered by me, but by himself. What type of guy is he? He is proving practically everything that I thought was true about every male false.

"I guess I'll just have to prove it to you," he mutters sadly. His eyes fluttered shut, his lips pursed in concentration. He seems to be concentrated on something, something I can't possibly identify.

"There is no way you can prove to me that-"

I am halted by his quick transfiguration, looking in wonder and awe as the lovely guy suddenly melts, his head crashing into his body. It is like a waterfall, the way his body suddenly falls into itself. However, there is a glimmer of light before he becomes a puddle on the floor, his body-liquid-I-don't-really-know creating a shape. Another instant and he is that form.

A gigantic wolf with sharp white teeth and black eyes that matches his pupils.

I leap back in terror. Nothing I had read or seen about werewolves had prepared me for this.

It barks once, a deep sound that reminds me roughly of his baritone chuckle, his shaggy fur a creamy light brown hue that fits his complexion. He, like his human counterpart, is very lovely. My breath is snatched away as I scrutinize him and his massive, elegant form. What completely astonishes me, most of all, is his dominating air, demanding respect even from me.

Similar to the last morphing, he abruptly crumbles, descending towards the earth swiftly. There is a flash of light, and he becomes the extraordinarily hot man he was before.

Scared, I take a step back, not watching where I am going. Liam, no matter how gorgeous, appears otherworldly. Somehow, my brain refuses to accept that werewolves exist, and even if now I am given proof, it still is a much to take in. It is nearly too much for me to comprehend, no matter how accurate it is.

My feet fall out from beneath me as I crash with a hard, sturdy object. I feel the floor rush to meet me, my arms flag about, attempting to catch my equilibrium.