Taken by the Rogue Alpha

Prologue | Girl on Fire

She's in the center of the dance floor, cheeks as red as her flaming hair. Her eyes are closed, arms in the air, hips twisting to the beat of the song playing throughout the bar. It's the only bar in the town that plays old music to an exclusively young-adult audience. American Girl by Tom Petty is blasting, and the girl is singing her heart out. The song travels right through her.

She's on fire.

Seth watches her from the bar, ignoring the conversation taking place among his friends. He takes a tip of beer then sets it back on the bar counter. He knows better to approach her—she walked in with a boy, holding his hand. They are dating, obviously. Does she know he isn't like she is? Does she know his humanness is only a varnish for what hides beneath? Seth knows his secret but she might not be so privy. She wouldn't be with him if she knew...would she?

She wears white jeans and a sheer olive-green top. It's in nice contrast to her red hair—natural, Seth guesses. Natural too are her red curls, Seth guesses again. She's beautiful, curvy, a bit taller than most of the other girls on the dance floor. She would be lost among them if not for her slight height advantage.

It's a compliment—he can watch her better this way.

A friend elbows him, trying to get him to engage in the conversation. Seth dismissively waves him away and his friends, who are of the same inhumanness as him, understand. They go quiet, staring at the girl. Another elbow.

"She's cute, hey? I like her hair. Think it's natural?"

"f**k off," is all Seth says.

The song ends and her dancing slows to a stop. She runs a hand through her hair, breathing heavy, chest rising and falling, and a few girls grab her arm as the next song begins playing—do they know her? She didn't walk in with them. Drunk girls always become best friends by the end of the night then never speak to one another again, even if they exchange numbers. It's law.

She shakes her head, laughing, says something to placate them, and they let her go. They resume dancing. Her hips sway as she walks away. Seth's eyes trace her as she greets her boyfriend at his booth on the other side of the room. She bends down, kisses him, then finishes the rest of her drink. He has only a water in front of him. Ah. Sober. He's taking care of her tonight.

She kisses him again, leaning over him to grab her purse, retrieving her wallet from within it. He whispers something in her ear and she playfully throws her purse at him, laughing again as she makes her way to the bar. Another drink. Now is Seth's chance. He is no fool—he anticipates rejection. All he wants to do is make himself known. He will see her again. He will see her many more times.

Whatever he knows, she will know it soon, too. Very soon.

The bartender is preoccupied. Seth has time. He peels himself away from his friends, moving to the adjacent side of the bar where she stands, wallet tucked under her armpit. As he gets nearer he notices the freckles that pepper her nose and disperse across her cheeks. He sizes her up and enjoys that he's about a head and some taller than her. She doesn't wear heels. Black converse is her choice for the night.

She turns to him with dark eyes lined a shade of green only a touch or two darker than her shirt. She is still out of breath, still half-giggling from whatever her boyfriend said. Carefully, she sets her palms on the bar-counter and faces forward, giving Seth no attention.

"You are beautiful," he says.

The laughing stops immediately and she rubs her lips together. The bartender is about to make his way over to her but Seth's friends flag him down. All six of them. They know exactly what they are doing. Where is the other bartender? Has there always been only one? Whatever. It doesn't matter. It buys him more time.

"Thank you," her voice is more contralto than he expected. She's standoffish, but polite. "But I'm here with my boyfriend. He's just over there."

She points to him.

"I know. I don't care."

Her brown eyes snap to him, alert.

"Listen, I'm not looking for any trouble—"

"And I'm not looking to cause any," he leans towards her and she leans away, but doesn't take a step back. "What's your name?"

"Why do you ask?"

"Because I want to know."

She's scared. He smirks.

"Tell me your name and I'll leave. Promise," he holds his hands up in surrender.

She purses her lips, indignant, shaking her head—not so lightheartedly this time. She is done with the conversation, deciding that in fact she will be the one leaving instead, and pushes away from the bar, preparing to return to her table to tattle to her boyfriend. Seth looks over at him. He's watching the scene fiercely.

Seth smirks again, keeping an eye on her boyfriend as he grabs her wrist. Predictably, he rises from his seat. She gasps, trying to pull free. It's to no avail.

"Amelia," her boyfriend says, eyes homed in on the man who threatens her. "Are you okay?"

Seth releases her wrist and she rubs it. The boyfriend realizes immediately what Seth is, narrowing his eyes. Amelia whips her focus back and forth between them, unsure if one man is going to lunge for the throat of the other. She notices the weird expression her boyfriend gives Seth; as if he is trying to place him, as if he knows him from somewhere. Not exactly. He just knows what Seth is. They are two sides of the same coin, after all.

"Jeremy," Amelia wraps her hands around his forearm. "I think I'm ready to leave."

The boyfriend—Jeremy—ignores her. He's a dog on a scent. He's a bit shorter than Seth but he doesn't let that deter him. He's still built, still a fair match. Amelia shakes his arm. Jeremy's jaw clenches. He knows what this means. He knows this might not be good for him. He knows Seth has targeted Amelia for a reason.

"Please, I don't want to cause a scene," she pleads. "Let's just go."

"Maybe you should listen to you girl," Seth taunts. "I wouldn't want to have to hurt you in front of—"

"Ignore him! Jeremy," she hisses. "Let's just grab our stuff and go. Please."

The bartender asks if there's a problem. Seth shrugs. Amelia looks to Jeremy who is looking at Seth. Jeremy slowly shifts his focus to Amelia, eyes softening. Love. Possession. Defeat. He's walking away only because Amelia tells him to. If she gave him permission to go for the throat he would do it, too. Seth knows this. Jeremy truly loves her. She truly loves him. It almost makes him feel guilty for what he will have to do.

Seth will become a rival. Though Jeremy is strong, Seth is stronger. This young Jeremy should be worried. Now that Seth has caught her scent there is no forgetting it—he will always have an idea of where she is. She will never escape him. She must feel the connection; even stronger than the one she feels with her boyfriend...if she feels it at all with him. Is it a purely human love she feels for him? Does she feel an ounce of what Jeremy must feel for her?

It will be different with Seth. It will consume her, eventually. He imagines how she would look with his mark on her neck, faded purple above the edge of her collarbone.

"Everything is fine," Jeremy nods to the bartender, bites his tongue. Holds back his fists. "We were just leaving."

They walk away. He gives a final glare to Seth.

Seth turns to join his friends and the bartender shadows him, saying: "if you cause s**t in this bar, you're out. You and all your buddies."

"No matter," Seth picks up his beer, taking a sip. "What I'm about to cause won't happen here."

He rests his back against the counter, observing the once carefree couple now tense and agitated, unable to leave quick enough. Amelia's hands are shaking so bad that Jeremy has to help her with her jacket. He kisses her forehead, taking her face in his hands, then kisses her lips. She swings her purse over her shoulder and he wraps his arm around her waist as he leads her out.

Just before they leave the building she glances at Seth. There is fear in those dark eyes of hers. Awareness. She knows something is amiss but she doesn't know what it is, but she can sense the first thread of her present relationship already fraying. The seed of doubt has been planted.

Amelia feels what I feel—maybe not as strongly, but she feels it nonetheless.

She will be mine. Rightfully. She belongs to me.