Angel and The Alpha

All rights reserved© All characters in this story are imaginary. The names of the characters have been taken from Google. Names of the characters and their meanings. Manakel : The angel of peace. Andrew: Warrior. Malphas: Demon. Gabriel: Messenger. Charmeine: Angel of harmony. .......... CHAP-1 MANAKEL Note to self: the next time Gabriel says "trust me," run the other way—preferably toward a spa and a stiff drink. I'd planned a graceful touchdown—maybe even stick the landing for a solid 9.5—but my darling cousin decided I needed an unscheduled gravity test. One celestial shove later, I plummeted like a featherless chicken and belly-flopped into a puddle the size of Lake Misery. Above me, Gabriel hovered, silver wings steady in the pale light. "Gabriel, you absolute cherub-butted menace!" I hollered, peeling moss off my teeth. He drifted down, haloed in sunlight and smugness. "Crash-landing drills, cousin. You're welcome." "Pretty sure drills involve warning the drillee." I wrung mud from my hair; it squelched. Delightful. Before I could invent new angelic swearwords, Charmeine fluttered in like a social-season swan—orange hair blazing, wings shimmering, not a speck of dirt on her white sandals. Show-off. If she weren't my best friend, I'd hate her. Angels look exactly like humans, only far more attractive—and far more powerful than any other supernatural. We dress up, wear makeup, train, shoot, get drunk, get laid... the whole repertoire. "Children," she sang, "are we bruised or merely egos?" "Both," I groaned. Gabriel crossed his arms. "She needs to look wrecked. Wolves smell lies faster than I smell trouble—which, for the record, is immediately." "Translation," I told Char, "he's itching to punch me." Charmeine grinned. "Then let's make it convincing." Gabriel sprang—and I met him halfway with a knee to the gut. It was like kneeing marble. Note to self: invent squishier relatives. He retaliated with a rib-cracker that rattled my teeth, so I slid under his guard, hooked his ankle, and flipped him heels-over-halo. Victory was mine for a glorious half-second... until gravity remembered me and I face-planted in the same puddle. (It's fine; mud masks are très chic.) Cue Charmeine: she descended from a branch like vengeance in silk, knocking the wind clean out of me—elbows, knees, a fist to the jaw. Stars pinwheeled. Somewhere between a headlock and my third unscheduled mud bath, I wondered if the Moon Goddess offered dental plans. Finally Gabriel whistled. "Enough! She looks like a tragedy novel." I spat out a leaf. "Only Chapter One. Wait till the wolves get a turn." He inspected the gash above my brow—blood, mud, artistic bruising. "Convincingly half-dead." "I am a hard nut to c***k, remember." He hugged me, armor-hard arms suddenly gentle. "Yeah, we know. If anything feels wrong among them, call us." Charmeine gripped my shoulders. "And remember: no angelic strength, no wings. Wolves respect limits, Mani. Act mortal." "I'll be the frailest damsel you ever saw," I vowed. With twin thunderclaps—silver and pearl—they vanished, leaving me alone, dripping, and committed to a mission that suddenly felt much less theoretical. I faced the wall of trees and let power ripple through me. Fur rolled over skin; bones reshaped. In three heartbeats a black wolf stood where I'd been. I added a neutral scent—smoke and winter wind—so no one could trace me home. A quick glance confirmed glossy paws, a thick coat gleaming in splintered sunlight. Magnificent. Perks of being the Moon Goddess's great-granddaughter—though we never speak her true name. Even angels age slowly: one mortal year for every angelic day. Grandma Moon still looks thirty-five; I've lived sixteen years yet pass for a grown teenager. I loped into the forest, following the route the Moon Goddess had shown me to Alpha Andrew's territory. Trees thinned; ahead, three wolves guarded the border. They hadn't spotted me, so I dropped into a limp and let a wounded whine carry on the breeze. Heads snapped up. Two trotted over while the third went rigid—mind-linking their alpha. I sank to my belly, tail tucked, signaling I meant no harm. "Turn back, rogue," the brown-furred one warned. I lowered my eyes. "TURN BACK NOW!" the black-haired guard barked. No need to shout, friend. When I didn't move, he lunged, clamped my throat, and squeezed. How dare you. I growled, heaved upward, and toppled him. Planting my weight across his ribs, I enjoyed his startled wheeze. "Told you it was a she-wolf," the brown guard chuckled. "Now look—you've angered her." "Shut up, Archie! Get this fat-ass off me," the pinned wolf—Cole—grunted. Fat-ass? Fine. I quietly added a few pounds to my mass. He swore as his lungs protested. "What in the Mother's name is going on?" a deep voice cut through the scuffle. I looked up—and froze. A man in his mid-twenties stepped from the trees like a painting come to life—sungold skin, dark blond hair, turquoise eyes brighter than heaven's gates, boxer briefs doing heroic things for his abs. My brain blue-screened. My heartbeat tried to reinvent dubstep. Cole escaped, gasping, but Andrew's gaze held me immobile. I rolled a few feet and let out a token whine. "What was that, Cole?" the newcomer snapped. Cole scrambled upright, rubbing his neck. "Sorry, Alpha. She was crushing me." Alpha. So this was Andrew. "Sure, she was," Andrew said, gaze never leaving me. "You—shift. Change behind those bushes. Try anything and we'll hunt you down." He extended a hand backward; the third guard pressed a white shirt into it. Andrew tossed it, and it landed across my muzzle. The others laughed. Charming. I limped into the brush, shifted to human, and I tugged the shirt over raw scratches. It smelled of woodsmoke and lavender, aka Dangerously Appealing Alpha, unreasonably appealing. I shook the thought away and stepped back into the clearing. Gasps met me. Jaws hung open as they took in long legs, curves, and waist-length blond hair. Cole shifted his gaze anywhere but at me, suddenly fascinated by everything that wasn't my face. Well, at least one member of this welcoming committee still had a shred of sanity. "Damn," Archie murmured, then whipped his head aside, suddenly fascinated by his own boots. Great. Horny wolves. Just what I needed. Andrew's eyes did a slow slide down and up before he barked, "Eyes forward!" "What are you doing on my land?" Andrew's voice was low but carried like distant thunder. I smoothed the borrowed shirt over my bruises and kept my tone small. "M-my pack was attacked. I'm the only one who got out." He took one measured step closer, turquoise eyes searching for cracks in the story. "Which pack?" "Black Moon," I said, meeting his gaze for only a heartbeat before the chill wind convinced me to drop it again. Silence stretched, thick as pine sap. Then he turned. "Guest room first, then my office." Broad shoulders flexed beneath the afternoon light as he strode off, the third guard falling in behind him. "Alpha," Archie and Cole chorused, bowing. Cole latched onto my forearm. "Come on, princess." The nickname earned him an eye-roll, but I let him tow me. Archie trailed us, heat-vision apparently fixed on my backside. After ten paces my patience snapped. I spun. "See something fascinating back there?" Archie's eyes went round; a blush crawled from collar to hairline. "I—I... no. Sorry." "Keep it that way," I muttered. Horny wolves: universal constant. Cole chuckled. "Feisty." We wound through neat rows of cabins until a stone mansion rose ahead—old, imposing, exactly the kind of place that judged intruders before they crossed the threshold. Cole's grip never loosened. Inside, a hush fell. Dozens of wolves turned; expressions ranged from wary to openly hostile. Being labeled "rogue" was apparently code for pariah. I exhaled, squared my shoulders, and let a wisp of humor steady me. Long road, Mani. Try not to trip on it. A ripple of silence cut through the room, then a sharp voice broke it. "Who's this?" A red-haired she-wolf stalked over, green eyes flicking from Cole to me. Cole held position in the center of the vast living room; Archie and I flanked him. Half the males inside were staring as if I'd been plated for lunch—until Cole said one word: "Rogue." The temperature dropped ten degrees. Growls rumbled. Several wolves took a threatening step forward; hungry looks morphed into outright loathing. Great. Thirty seconds in and I've won the popular-vote award. "I don't mean harm," I said evenly. "I'm here for a reason." "What reason?" A blond male shouldered closer, far inside my comfort zone. I drifted back a pace, lifting my chin. "I'm not obliged to tell you," I replied, meeting his stare without blinking. His hands balled; tendons jumped along his forearms. The redhead huffed. "Enough posturing. Alpha wants her changed." She shot a glare at the crowd, as if daring them to argue. Voices rose anyway—disbelief, annoyance, outright disgust—but she ignored the chorus and headed for the stairs. Cole nudged me forward, fingers firm around my arm. Upstairs, the redhead halted at a guest room, latched onto my wrist, and towed me inside while Cole and Archie posted themselves outside like sentries. She yanked open a wardrobe, rummaged, then tossed over a white knit sweater and blue jeans. I caught them, murmuring a quick thanks. "Change," she said, arms folding, glare unwavering. I rolled my eyes—noted by her, definitely not appreciated—and ducked into the bathroom. New clothes on, face rinsed, scratches dabbed clean, I dragged my fingers through tangled hair and stepped back out. The redhead looked monumentally bored. The second she noticed I was ready, she jerked her head toward the hall and strode out. I kept pace. Archie leaned against the opposite wall, thumbs flying across his phone; he glanced up, gave me a slow once-over, and arched a brow. "How's the leg? Saw you limping," he asked. "Good as new." "Move it," he said, pocketing the phone and reclaiming my forearm—like I might vault out a window any second. I sighed but followed. Apparently flight risk was now my official title. We descended the stairs—fewer gawkers this time, but every pair of eyes tracked us. The red-haired she-wolf drifted to the blond male who'd bristled at me earlier; both watched as Archie guided me outside into the cold night air. I tugged my borrowed sweater tighter. "Where exactly are we headed?" "Alpha's office," he answered, stride never slowing. The path wound past neat rows of cabins until a larger, stone-fronted house appeared, set slightly apart from the rest. Porch lights haloed the doorway. On the steps waited Cole and the quiet third guard whose name I still didn't know. Cole greeted us with a smirk; the dark-haired wolf offered a warm smile I returned instinctively. He blinked, surprised, then grinned back—tan skin, black eyes, navy shirt stretched across a solid frame. The first friendly face so far. "Ready to get roasted?" Cole drawled. "Can't wait," I shot back, matching his grin. His brow lifted, like he'd expected trembling fear, not sarcasm. I slipped my arm from Archie's grasp and strode for the door. "Lead on, gentlemen." Behind me, Cole chuckled to the quiet guard. "She's something else." You have no idea, I thought, and stepped inside. 🌸🌸🌸 ●●●