The Traitor Alpha's Daughter

Ready for a Change

Alina’s POV

I suppose it’s time I filled you in on some of the things you might be wondering about my pack.

We’re called the Winder Pack for obvious reasons. There are fifty in total with “wolf blood,” including those whose wolves haven’t awakened yet, like me. Eight of us are high schoolers, two in middle school, and ten kids in elementary or younger. Of the thirty adults, twenty are married off to each other, five are married to humans who live at the compound with us, and five are still, as of now, single.

Noah is included in that count since, technically, he’s single until he mates and marks someone.

There’s an even more complicated breakdown than that involving who’s Alpha (which you already know), who’s Beta and Delta (Marc and Brett’s dads), who are the Sentinels (I won’t bore you with names, but they’re the ones who scout, guard, and keep us safe), who are the Hunters (I’m a damn good hunter and should be included in this group when I turn eighteen, but, of course, a Luna can’t be a hunter), and who are the Omegas (pretty much anyone who shares my father’s disgraced last name of Marks and, as a result, is shunned and mostly penniless).

You might be wondering how I, if I’m so shunned and penniless, managed to wrangle the affections of the pack’s Alpha. After all, if I was really that unfortunate, he could choose to reject me, right? Find himself a newer, shinier mate?

Well, he probably should. But, unfortunately, we Marks wolves come with a few genetic mutations that make us, well… different from other wolves. It’s not just the light eyes; it’s the way we’re built, too. Lighter and nimbler than other wolves. It’s seen as attractive in women because we appear “daintier,” but in actuality, we’re still much stronger than the average wolf.

Anyway, the point is, because I’m “special,” and, in some subjective opinions, “beautiful,” Noah decided he could forgive the fact that I’m an outcast and love me anyway.

And he’ll never let me forget it.

“Come on, baby,” he pleads into my ear as his hand slips up my top and squeezes my breast so tight, I have to resist the urge to cry out. “We’ve waited long enough. Don’t you want to?”

He’s referring to s*x, of course. He pressures me for s*x pretty much any time we’re alone together, which is often. Most underage she-wolves in the pack still spend their nights at home with their parents, but given that my one remaining parent is neglectful at best and mentally abusive at worst, I often stay at Noah’s place, instead—not that he’s much better.

“Of course, I want to,” I lie, as I always do. His other hand slips down my shorts and clamps down on my p***y hard enough to make me quiver. “But we have to wait, Noah. You know that.”

He moves that hand, replacing it with his huge, hardened c**k, which he’s had exposed for the past twenty minutes or so. (We might not have mated yet, but we’ve done pretty much everything else.) He grinds it against my still-clothed s*x as he pants into my ear, teeth dangerously close to my neck. “I’m the Alpha,” he growls into my skin. “I can do whatever I want.”

“Of course, you can,” I whimper back to him. He loves when I whimper. He loves to scare me and dominate me in whatever ways possible. “But they won’t respect me if you do it now. Don’t you want them to respect your future Luna?”

Truth be told, it’s him they’d respect less in that situation; it’s even more unacceptable in wolf society than in regular society for a man to mate with an underage woman. If our wolves aren’t awake yet, we can’t be sure that we’re giving up our “precious flowers” to the right man.

Which is exactly what he’s afraid of.

“Fine,” he growls into my ear, then bites it sharply—not deep enough to be mistaken for a misplaced mark, but hard enough to draw blood. He pulls away from me at that, and it becomes rapidly apparent from the way he’s gesturing to his still-hard c**k that he expects me to facilitate his… finishing.

I’m really ready for that damn wolf of mine to wake up, I marvel as I get on my hands and knees.

I’m ready for a change.

- - - - -

The next night, Noah announces that we’re going to the Scarlet Lounge.

He often gets like this after his “pack business” excursions. I don’t know exactly where he went or what he did yesterday, but I know that those trips often involve torturing or killing vamps, which always puts him in a “partying” kind of mood.

Unfortunately, the Scarlet Lounge isn’t just the spot where wolves go to party; it’s the spot where vamps go to party, too.

And I really hate vamps. As would any girl whose father was murdered by them.

I don’t say no, of course. I never say no to Noah. I do exactly what he expects me to do: I get dolled up in an outfit that’s just slutty enough to make everyone at the lounge jealous of him for “possessing” me, but not slutty enough to let them see too much of the goods that only he is allowed to see.

Believe me—it’s a whole thing. My wardrobe has been a serious point of contention with him over the years.

I do invite Alice, which he’ll be fine with. She isn’t an Omega; her parents are well-respected Sentinels—some of the few who Noah allowed to stay on during the transition from my father’s reign to his. Other than me and her, Noah only invites “the guys” to events like this—a group of about ten of our strongest wolves from age eighteen to thirty, minus our Delta, who he leaves in charge while he’s gone. (He’s really supposed to leave his Beta in charge when he parties, but his Beta, Tav, is his best friend, and he’ll never party without him.)

“At least Brett and Marc aren’t coming,” Alice points out as we head out of my bedroom, where we got ready together. “Did Noah ever mention that second fight to you?”

Actually, no—which was a bit of a surprise to me. I have a feeling they didn’t report back to him because they were embarrassed about how it all went down. But I don’t get the chance to tell Alice that before my damn mother approaches us.

She’s wasted, of course. My mom’s always wasted, whether it’s nine o’clock in the morning or nine o’clock at night.

“Good,” she says when she sees me, nodding her head in approval. “You’ve finally learned how to dress to please that man of yours.”

“Well, I’m glad you approve,” I tell her mechanically. “We’ll be back later tonight.”

“Back?” She scoffs. “Don’t be back. Stay out. Stay with your mate. Why haven’t you let him mark you yet?”

I groan, shooting Alice an I’m sorry look. “I’m seventeen, Mom. We’v been over this.”

“And you’re a disgraced Omega. You should be grateful he’s even looking at you. If he wants to mark you, let him.”

I hate when she talks about our “disgrace.” I’m used to it with the rest of the pack, but it hurts so much worse coming from her—knowing that she blames Dad for all this.

I don’t, for the record. He was tortured—threatened. We don’t know what they said to him in that prison cell. We don’t know what he believed would happen to me, her, or his pack if he didn’t comply. I refuse to hold his actions against him without having all the facts.

And, unfortunately, a lowly Omega like me has no way of gathering those facts.

“Well,” I say, clearing my throat and pushing those thoughts away, “we should go. Wouldn’t want your precious Noah to be kept waiting.”

And I pull Alice out the door before my drunk mother can say anything else to break my heart.