The Alpha's Warlock (Mismatched Mates #1)

by Eliot Grayson

“All right, Nate,” he said, sitting down and resting his chin in one propped hand. “How about you focus less on pissing Ian off and more on telling me what the fuck is actually going on here.” “But he's so easy to piss off.” Matthew gave me a long look I couldn't interpret. “Not usually.”

It was the Armitage pack enforcer gazing down at me, assessing and emotionless, not Ian. Not the man I'd caught glimpses of, when he interacted with someone he liked. Anyone who wasn't me. “I won't hurt you.” There wasn't even a trace of inflection in his voice. “Let me get you undressed, turn over, and I'll make it as easy as I can.” And then, as I nodded shakily and let go of his arms, he muttered something that sounded like, “For both of us.”

“What the fuck, Nate,” he growled, so low it was practically subsonic. “I told you not to use mag—” “Oh, sorry, did you?” I retorted, cutting him off. “Really? Did you give me some orders? That I somehow didn't follow because I'm not your fucking subordinate?” “Yeah, yeah you fucking are!” he shouted right back. “Because I'm Matt's second, and your mate, and you're in this pack now, which means you follow my orders whether you like it or —” “Make me.” The words flew out before I could think them through, and honestly — probably not my smartest moment.

I wanted to stroke his forehead again. I wanted to cradle his head in my lap and cry. I wanted him to wake up and hug me and tell me it was all right, that I was safe, that I was more than a walking, talking liability that no one trusted. Like that had worked out so well with his cousin. What the fuck was wrong with me?

Ian leaned down, slowly but without hesitation, and set his mouth over mine. His lips were softer than I'd expected — if I'd thought about it. Which I hadn't. Soft. Warm. Coaxing. My lips parted automatically, and my breath whooshed out, mingling with his, as his tongue delicately teased at the tip of mine. This was not how Ian Armitage, badass alpha dickhead, was supposed to kiss. It should've been rough, and careless, and selfish, not this sweet tease.

Note to self: alphas had no sense of humor about dog jokes. To be fair, I probably should have been able to work that one out on my own.

But it had a seedy vibe all the same, like the ghosts of all the dicks sucked in the corners of the room were haunting the place even when the bar, sorry, lounge, was closed and the drunks were at work nursing their hangovers.

“You owe us an explanation first. You could start with why everyone in the store was terrified of us and called in the whole police department. And for the record? ‘Attempted bonding you experienced’ is a crappy way of describing it. What are you, my kidnappers’ PR team?”

And for the record? ‘Attempted bonding you experienced’ is a crappy way of describing it. What are you, my kidnappers’ PR team?”

“Nate.” Ian spoke so quietly I could barely hear him. “I wouldn’t have hurt you. No matter what you say or do, I won’t ever hurt you.”

Just Ian. Loyal, brave, reckless Ian, who’d mated with me to save my life even though he’d always known I was poison, tainted, more trouble than I was worth.

“You’re my mate, which means you’re my weak point.” “Oh, fuck you, Ian, if one more fucking person calls me weak tonight —” “I didn’t say you were weak,” he snapped, finally turning to glare at me. Or try to glare. It didn’t work as well as usual, and it dawned on me why he’d been trying not to make eye contact: he couldn’t hide whatever unnamed feeling that was, lighting his pale blue eyes with something that shook me down to my boots. “You make me weak,” he said quietly.

Fuck it. Ian was my alpha, and no one else was getting him. I’d stop calling him an idiot. I’d stopped that already, anyway, since the evidence was against me. I’d stop complaining, whining, and generally being a pain in the ass. I’d talk less. Maybe not that last one. But as I fell into bed, dropping my wet towel on the floor like a dick, my last thought was a promise to myself that I’d do everything I could, and maybe, just maybe, he’d want to keep me.

“I love you,” I whispered. “You unbelievable dick.”