Page 2 of Alpha Chase

“Chaaaase,” Stasia whines, drawing it out in an awful nasal tone that makes me hate the sound of my own name. She tosses her hair back, thrusting out her lower lip in an exaggerated pout.

I cringe and turn away as I yank a pair of boxers up my hips, then rub the sleep from my eyes. I’m too tired to deal with this shit.

Stasia doesn’t give up easily, though- instead, she stands from the bed and pads over to me, tits bouncing. “I know what you need,” she smirks, batting eyelashes that are clumped together with mascara from the night before. She licks her lips suggestively and starts sinking to her knees in front of me.

Before both of her knees can hit the carpet I reach out and fist her hair, yanking her back up as she stumbles to find her footing. I lean my face down to hers, Stasia’s hazel eyes crossing from the close proximity. “I said get the fuck out,” I growl, shoving her away.

She finally takes the hint.

“You’re an asshole,” Stasia mutters while she collects her clothes from the floor. As if I give a fuck what she thinks of me. “C’mon, Britt.”

That’sthe blonde’s name- Brittany. Her father was one of my dad’s advisors, so technically I guess he’s one of mine now. Wonder if he knows his little angel turns into a slut after a few Jell-o shots.

Stasia and Britt hastily throw on their clothes and scamper out of my room like frightened mice. I tug on a pair of grey sweats that ride low on my hips and a black hooded sweatshirt, listening for the girls to make their exit from the packhouse before emerging from the solitude of my bedroom.

It used to be my dad’s- the master suite, reserved for the alpha. When he died, I automatically inherited his title, so it made sense for me to also move into the largest room in the packhouse. I had every trace of him removed first, down to the furniture. Then I had the walls painted black and new furniture brought in- all sleek and modern, cold and impersonal. It doesn’t even look lived in, but that’s how I like it. The room now feels as empty as I do. Though despite the fact that I’ve scrubbed him completely from this room, I swear I still feel my dad’s ghost lurking in here sometimes.

If he’s watching, he’s probably judging.

I make my way downstairs where the cleaning crew is already working to scrub away the evidence of the rager I threw here last night. Plastic cups and empty liquor bottles litter every surface and empty kegs float in tubs of water near the back door, the ice long melted. It fucking reeks down here, too- even worse than my room. The stale beer smell lingering in the air almost makes me retch.

“Well good morning,” I hear Rob’s voice greet from somewhere behind me, rolling my eyes at the condescension in his tone.

I swing around to face him, rolling a joint around in my fingers and plucking a lighter off of an end table. “Is it?”

Rob frowns in disapproval as I bring the joint to my lips and light the end, the paper crackling. I keep my eyes trained on his as I inhale slowly, sweet marijuana smoke burning my throat and filling my lungs.

“You’ve gotta stop throwing these parties.”

I take another pull from the joint, staring down at it as I blow out the smoke and watch the paper curl and burn with orange embers, tempted to touch it. “Says who?

Rob doesn’t immediately respond, just shifts his body weight uncomfortably in the tense silence until I finally look up at him again, narrowing my eyes in challenge. “I’m Alpha, so the way I see it, I can do whatever the fuck I want to.”

He narrows his eyes back at me but doesn’t say a fuckin’ word. The two of us have done this song and dance many times over the past couple months. It’s like Rob’s trying to parent me in my dad’s absence, but there’s just one problem- he’s not my father. That, and I outrank him, so I don’t have to listen to a goddamn word he says.

“Gray’s here, it’d be nice if you came in and sat with him for a while today,” he finally mutters as I take another pull from the joint before stubbing it out on a coaster.

“Yeah, maybe,” I say dismissively, waving him off. I pick up a liquor bottle from the side table, still about a quarter of the way full of amber whiskey. I give Rob a nod as I dangle the bottle from my fingers, heading over to one of the black leather couches scattered around the living room and slumping down onto it as Rob retreats to his office.

I’ve got a big enough headache this morning without Rob riding me about what I should or shouldn’t be doing. Like I don’t already know I should be sitting in with Gray to learn about the day-to-day duties I’ll take on as Alpha. Gray has his own pack to run, but he’s been over here regularly to help keep ours afloat since my dad was killed, trying to act as a mentor to me or some shit. I should let him. I should take him up on his offers to teach me the ropes. Trouble is, I just don’t fuckingcare.

I bring the liquor bottle to my lips and take a pull, the whiskey burning as it slips down my throat. Since this headache isn’t going away on its own, I may as well try a little hair of the dog. I zone out with the liquor bottle in hand, taking lazy pulls from it as the cleanup crew continues to work around me.

A knock sounds out and I look toward the front door of the packhouse, willing whoever it is to just go away and leave me the fuck alone. If it was someone from my pack, they’d just walk their happy ass right inside- so the fact that they’re knocking tells me it’s someone I don’t know or don’t want to deal with.

Another knock comes, louder this time. I glance toward the hall that houses the offices, waiting to see if Rob is going to come answer this door. Maybe he’s expecting someone. He doesn’t come out of his office, though, and the knocking increases in persistence, my headache throbbing in time with the pounding on the door.

Fuckin’ A.

Heaving a sigh, I slide the whiskey bottle onto the coffee table in front of me and stand from the couch, slowly stretching before making my way toward the door. Whoever is on the other side is relentless, still knocking. “Alright, alright!” I call out exasperatedly, stabbing my fingers through my hair as I reach for the handle. “Calm your tits!”

I yank the door open with a scowl on my face.

The girl on the other side stands more than a foot shorter than my six foot six. Yeah, I’m freakishly tall, but she’s freakishly short- everywhere that I’m large, she’s petite, seemingly delicate. Glossy black hair falls over her shoulders in waves, framing a heart-shaped face. Her coloring is a dead giveaway of her Latin descent, as are her harsh cheekbones and full, pouty lips. They look soft as fuck. Kissable, if I were into something that intimate.

She’s dressed casually in a pair of high-waisted skinny jeans and a white crop top, the shape of her body mostly hidden underneath an open zip-up hoodie. The little I can see, though, makes me curious for a peek at the rest. Looks like she’s fit, but soft where it counts. My fingers itch to reach out and see if that’s true. Her scent hits my nose and my wolf instantly stirs, perking up in response to the sweet notes of raspberry and rosewater. And if all of that didn’t give me pause, her brown eyes peek out from under thick, dark lashes and collide with mine, all the air leaving my body on impact.

Shit.Just looking at her stirs something deep inside me; something primal and hungry. Whatever it is, it’s an unwelcome emotion after bathing myself in numbness for the last two months.

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