The Rogue Series 1: The Rogue Alpha
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Gemma Rue
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48
“You pack wolves all fight the same,” I mock. He’s tall, strong, and an alpha. Even Rogues know not to fight an Alpha. But I’m no regular Rogue.
“Is that so?” His muscles strain against his shirt.
My gaze traces his body. I linger a moment too long. A fist pushes against me. I grab his wrist. We fall with a thud. Our bodies pressed together.
“If you wanted me on top of you, all you had to do was ask.”
When fate forces a rogue and alpha together, will they be able to set aside their differences and give love a chance?
Chapter 1
Book 1: The Rogue Alpha
HARLEY
“Hurry up!” I order Simon as I hear his footsteps slowing. Quickly, he speeds up.
My muscles ache as I run, pushing my legs faster. My wolf gives me all her strength, pushing her power through me.
“They aren’t close anymore!” he thinks back, his voice strained as he struggles to breathe.
My gut twists, and I struggle to listen. Footsteps and howls hunt us through the forest, threats thick in their volume. Simon’s probably right—the howls are weakening, but they won’t give up that easily. They can’t, not when he sent them. Risking it is foolish. Pushing farther, I growl through the mind-link, driving my family farther from the howls.
Grrrrr aroooo. Grrr.
Shadows surround us as new growls flood the air. The wolves are everywhere, surrounding us. Two wolves to our front, two on each side, and one in the back. Each one easily matches our pace as they surround us.
“Fuck!” I think at Simon. We can take three, maybe five if we didn’t have the kids hanging off our backs, but seven?
The wolves easily meet our pace, eventually circling us. In unison, they gradually slow their pace. Crying, Millie tugs the hair on my back. We couldn’t squeeze through without putting them at risk. As I slow, I study the wolves to my side. They are strong, brown, and well-trained. Pack wolves. No rogues work this well together.
We crossed into pack territory and didn’t even realize—what a rookie mistake.
Forced to slow to a stop, a wolf with fur as dark as the night snarls, his eyes full of anger and hate. The others follow suit, growling as they circle us. The leader wolf’s eyes alternate between watching me and the children riding along with us. We must look so weird. How often do you see two young wolves running with three kids like this?
Lowering myself, I let the kids slip off onto the forest ground. Their eyes are thick with tears. I purr slightly as I gently rub against them. I lower my head to the leader wolf, then my body shakes as I shift back into my human form. Simon follows suit.
The twins, Reese and Sage, toss us each an oversized shirt to put on. Surprisingly, the pack wolves sit patiently through this, averting their eyes as we put the shirts on.
Once I am dressed, I feel eyes on my skin, all the wolves staring at us with neutral faces. What are they waiting for? Packs are notoriously unforgiving about trespassing.
I throw my hands up gently and lower my gaze, begging, “We apologize if we crossed onto your land. We can go on our way and never come back if you let us.”
A harsh, deep growl breaks through the night air. The black wolf snarls, watching me.
My pulse quickens. Millie wraps herself around my leg as her tears sink into the T-shirt. I look toward Simon quickly, then my gaze turns back to the leader. “Please let the kids leave. They are young. They didn’t know.”
With no acknowledgment of my words, the wolves around us begin walking in unison. They’re clearly communicating, receiving orders in a pack mind-link by the wolf in charge, maybe even from the alpha himself.
Probably not, though. We are just unimportant rogues. Our fate is probably being decided by some gamma sending thoughts through the pack mind-link while he enjoys a peaceful night and never thinks about us again. If only I could hear their conversation, to know better what they have planned for us, but unfortunately non-pack members can’t mind-link each other.
One wolf pushes Simon with its nose, urging him forward.
“Guess we’re going to their pit,” worries Simon in our private link, leaving the kids out of the conversation.
The forest ground is cold as we all trudge through the dirt, pushing branches and plants out of the way. The air around us is silent except for Millie’s cries. It is slow progress as we follow the pack.
We walk at least three miles, slow in our human form.
Millie continues to cry and shake in my arms, wrapping herself around my neck and nuzzling against me.
A lighter-brown wolf to the left watches her intently, a small whimper sneaking out of her when Millie begins to cry again. The wolf is probably a mom.
Pushing my one hand over Millie’s ears, I quickly whisper to the soft-hearted wolf, “Please, if we—if we die, keep her safe.”
The wolf nods slightly as a growl echoes from the front of the pack. My heart rate slows; at least, Millie may be safe.
Hours later, we approach a massive home. “Home” may not be the right word; it looks more like a castle, something out of the fairy tales I tell the kids. The gray stone shines against the dark night sky, with towers and balconies looming over us. The twins both look up, gaping. Sage gasps, “A king must live here.”
Not a king. An alpha.
We are met at the front of the house by ten guards, all in their human form, although this doesn’t make them less threatening as they surround us, hate in their eyes. They pause as they stare wordlessly at the wolves guiding us, giving or receiving orders through their pack’s mind-link. The guards guide us inside in silence.
The entryway is as obnoxious and intense as the outside. A huge chandelier hangs from the ceiling, and shiny marble lines the floor. The ceilings are so high, you can almost forget you are inside.
The men continue to lead us down a hallway and into a dining-room area, where four men are eating at a table big enough for twenty. The room is so clean, everything shines.
My eyes catch the kids in my peripheral vision, making me suddenly aware of how dirty we are. I am covered in dirt and blood, and I’m half-naked in one of the nicest places I’ll ever be. The kids are smeared from head to toe in dirt. We must look awful.
“Thank you,” says a man sitting at the head of the table. Rising, he turns around, looking us up and down. He is tall and polished in his well-tailored suit. His muscles push against the fabric, straining it. He has blond hair pulled back in a bun, and a strong jaw.
As I dare to glance up, my eyes meet his, and a weird feeling spreads through me. My heart flutters, my skin burns, and my wolf howls in my mind. My eyes struggle to break away from his deep-green eyes. What is this?
