The Alpha's Warlock (Mismatched Mates #1)

by Eliot Grayson

Matthew Armitage was five years or so older than Ian, but aside from also being an alpha, he didn't have much in common with his younger — definitely not little — brother.

the brothers turned to look at me in unison, two pairs of eerie light-blue eyes fixed on me with a little too much intensity. So maybe they had a few things in common, despite Matthew's dark hair and slightly less-huge build and general ability not to be a dick.

He was more impressive out of his clothes than in them, and that wasn't true of most men in my experience. Broad shoulders dusted with freckles, broad chest dusted with dark red curls, powerful thighs, and between his thighs — I swallowed hard. Fuck. Okay, the rumors about alphas weren't exaggerated. At all.

“Ian,” I whispered, and then let out a whimper as two slick fingers pressed between the cheeks of my ass. “Yeah?” One fingertip dipped inside, and I squirmed, clutching the sheets and trying my damnedest not to slam my legs closed and try to get away. He didn't sound all that composed anymore, his voice hoarse and scratchy.

Was it better to be useful, and therefore used, or useless and left to die?

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.

Abruptly, he released my throat — and gods help me, I wanted that hand back, pinning me in place, until he used it to push the blankets down, baring me to the knees.

“If you come in my mouth, we're done,” I said. “Oh, fuck,” he groaned, and tipped his head back, panting, his eyes sliding shut. Well. That was encouraging. I hid my smile by ducking my head and taking him in my mouth in one long, slow glide.

“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.”

“If he tried to kill your father, we can’t trust him.” “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?”

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

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.

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.

“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.”