The Alpha's Warlock (Mismatched Mates #1)

by Eliot Grayson

“I’m sorry,” Freckles said. “I’ve been remiss. I’m Charlie Fenwick. Nate, you might know me better as ‘that fucking cocksucking bloodsucker that tried to kill me,’ which is what your dear departed father used to call me, I understand, with his usual eloquence.”

“Are you listening to yourself? Aside from the question of, who didn’t try to kill my father at some point, can you really blame him?” Ian blinked at me. “Yeah. Okay. Fair point.”

Vampires grew stronger and stronger the longer they aged, becoming immune to strong sunlight and silver and gaining a variety of mental powers, and this one had Dor and his sword, to boot.

Apparently Dor and Ian shared a lack of humor. Their loss.

“Places to go, hopefully throats to rip out with my teeth.”

“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.”

How were you supposed to reach your potential if you didn’t even know what steps to take to get there?

I’d had two years of freedom. But this was inevitable. My father was never really going to let me go. A mysterious death, that he’d no doubt staged to get away from whichever supernatural asshole was gunning for him and start over? I should be so lucky.

Ian was still alive, and he was worth ten of his cousin. A hundred. He was worth whatever I had to give, because how many truly honorable men had I met in my life?

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.

After this was over, I promised myself I was never going hiking again. Nothing even hiking-adjacent. The farthest I was going to walk was from a nice warm car into a Starbucks and back again, and if I got flabby and pale, or flabbier and paler as the case may be, so fucking be it.

I was like a bad supernatural country song, all wanting to be loved and sad that my werewolf ran away. Or something.

I’d take this fucking shaman down if it was the last thing I ever — bad choice of words. I’d take him down. Fucking period.

was so, so done with decapitation for one day. And I sure as hell wasn’t joining the severed-head clean-up crew. I curled in on myself, laughing hysterically, and waited for the mopping-up to be over.

Fuck it. Like Scarlett O’Hara said, tomorrow was another day. I didn’t need to worry about it until it started.

If alpha mating instincts meant they washed you in all the hot water and then uncomplainingly took cold showers on their own, I couldn’t believe everyone didn’t want one.

was sleepy. No way. I rolled over, doing my best impression of a needy, grabby octopus. Would it be easier to keep him in bed if I had eight limbs and those cool little suction things?

“Nate. I never hated that Jared was with you. I hated that you were with him. I hated him. I hated myself for hating him. I hated everyone in the fucking world except for you.”

“Yeah,” Ian said. He didn’t sound happy. “Oh. Yeah, you have me wrapped around your fucking little finger. And now I’m never going to be able to say no to you, because you’ll always know it’s bullshit.”

“I’ve been trying not to fall in love with you for years and failing, and I’d die for you. You called me an asshole, so I think you actually mean it, so can you please, please just fucking say it again?”

He was my alpha, and I wasn’t letting him go.