The Alpha's Warlock (Mismatched Mates #1)

by Eliot Grayson

“That's helpful,” Matthew said dryly. “Really. Good to see your magical expertise is so detailed.” “Bite me,” I muttered, and then quickly added, “Figuratively! Figuratively, Matthew.”

The pantry yielded a box of Pop-Tarts. I didn't bother looking for an expiration date. Those things had a half-life like frosted-cherry plutonium.

“I thought Matthew liked me,” I whispered, and then I dropped my head in my hands. I hadn't meant to say that out loud. I was just so tired. So very, very fucking tired. Ian made a weird, strangled sound and shifted on the couch suddenly. Was he going to actually punch me? Did I care? “Why did you mate with me, then? If you thought it was a trap? If I'm — just like him?” I took my hands off my face and looked up at him, and was shocked to see how pale he was, and how stricken. He turned away and got up off the couch. Maybe I'd imagined it. Maybe he was so angry he'd gone white.

Of course Ian didn't have a clock, and my phone was smashed somewhere on the floor of a warehouse. Just as well. If I'd had one, Ian probably would have kept it anyway. I could picture him hunched over it, waiting for a text that read, “Oh hey this is the Kimball shaman. Killed Matthew Armitage yet? Report soon! :) Good luck!” I was pretty sure Ian actually did think I was that dumb. Asshole.

thought longingly of Starbucks. Green aprons, standardized shots of vanilla syrup, people who didn't growl at me. Heaven.

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

Ian tore his mouth away. “Fuck, Nate, fuck, fuck, fuck...”

until he bent and swallowed my straining cock in one go. I cried out, arching up into the wet heat of his mouth and throat. Ian didn't hold me down, didn't back off, just sucked like he was starving for it, licking and — oh fuck, he was growling, the sound vibrating through my overstimulated dick and down into my balls, and lower.

“That was moving, Ian. Maybe I should've tied you up, if you can't keep yourself in line.” “There aren't —” I gave him a long lick from base to tip. “Uhhh, fuck, there aren't — any ropes — that could hold me right now, Nate,” he choked, and I looked up to find him staring down at me, eyes wide and wild and glowing.

I redoubled my efforts, licking all over the head of his cock like it was the best ice-cream cone I'd ever eaten. “Nate, please,” he moaned. “Jesus fuck, just fucking do something!”

I fumbled my slicked-up hand behind me and pressed two fingers inside, wincing a little at the sudden stretch. I rode my fingers, making little sounds as I moved, and Ian groaned and bit my neck. “You're making me crazy. You're so fucking beautiful, Nate, hurry up.”

“I can't touch you, you need to — come on, Nate, come on —” His voice was barely human, either, rough and guttural. “Don't need to,” I whispered. I threw my head back and cried out to the rafters, and came all over us both.

“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.”

Dor and I had enormous mugs of coffee, Ian had a glass of water — which he stared at like it was going to attack him — and Charlie had a glass of red wine. At least, I was pretty sure it was wine. I didn’t ask. I also didn’t say anything about the sixteen packets of Splenda in big tough ninja Dor’s coffee cup. I wanted to live.

“You’re a smartass,” Dor put in. “Tell me about it,” Ian muttered, and I stared in open-mouthed indignation as he and Dor exchanged an I know how it is kind of look and a slight mutual shrug. I looked over at Charlie, and for just a second I empathized with him, because it was like looking in a wide-eyed, irritated mirror. Apparently Dor and Ian shared a lack of humor. Their loss.

And I truly do not enjoy discussing my private affairs with…anyone.” The way he said ‘anyone,’ it sounded like a euphemism for ‘vermin’ or possibly ‘idiots like you.’

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

“Nate,” he murmured. “Oh, fuck, baby, tell me you’re all right.”

Oh, and Sam Kimball’s head on some kind of spike, or possibly mounted on a plaque. I used to do some taxidermy in my younger —” “Oh my fucking gods, shut up,” I choked, bile rushing up at the image of pretty little fucking evil Charlie humming a tune as he cheerfully stuffed Kimball’s skull with cotton balls.

Dor rolled his eyes. “Humans are so squeamish.” He let out a long-suffering sigh. “I’ll cut off his head as neatly as you like, and we’ll discuss the display arrangements later. For now, the point, please, Fenwick?”

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.”

“You thought…oh, fuck, baby, you thought you weren’t good enough?” Ian’s voice cracked on the last word, and the next thing I knew he was on the bed and wrapped around me, his arms like a vise holding me against his broad chest. “Never. Never. Jesus fucking Christ, you’re the best thing in the world. You’re everything. I always thought so, from day fucking one. I couldn’t keep my eyes off of 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.”

His mouth hung open, and his eyes were wide, and he stared. Like I’d told him I was secretly a were-weasel, surprise!

“You don’t have to say that,” Ian said hoarsely. “Don’t say it again. Not until — unless you mean it.” What? I blinked up at him, getting the water off my eyelashes. “What the fuck? Do you think I’d say that without — I’ve never said that to anyone!” I shoved his chest, and then whimpered as the motion pulled on me, in places that shouldn’t be pulled on. “Ow! Fuck you, Ian! I love you, even though you’re an asshole, and the best thing you can say is Don’t say it again?” Ian let go of me to roll us over again, so that he was on top. Very much on top, pinning me down completely, his face only inches from mine. His gaze was way too searching, but also — I’d never seen hope like that, happiness like that, growing so quickly in anyone’s eyes. “I changed my mind. Say it again.” “No! Fuck you. I’m not saying —” “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?” That was better. That was a lot better. My breath hitched, and my heart stuttered, and I couldn’t look away from him. “I love you,” I whispered. “You unbelievable dick.”