Page 2 of Fated to the Enemy Alpha

Anger flared, burning away the last of my common sense. I shoved him hard. The alcohol dulled my reflexes but not my temper. “Get out of my face,” I growled, the words a low rumble in my throat.

He stumbled, surprised by the force of my shove, but he quickly recovered. “Feisty, huh? I like that.” My stomach twisted with disgust at the leering look on his face. He moved to grab my arm, but I yanked it away, sidestepping him.

That’s when the other two men surged forward, cutting off my retreat back into the warm glow of the bar.

My heart hammered against my ribs like a frantic bird trapped in a cage.

This isn’t good.

The men moved with a practiced coordination that belied their drunken state, a silent communication passing between them. They herded me along the sidewalk, which suddenly felt incredibly narrow and exposed. I noticed, with a sickening lurch, that the streetlights were broken this way, casting long, distorted shadows that danced around me like grasping claws.

One thug blocked my path while the other who’d spoken darted forward, backing me against the cold, grimy brick wall. He smirked, a lewd glint in his eyes making my skin crawl. “I’m sure you can take us all, Princess.”

The whiskey in my stomach soured, turning into bile at his insinuation. Adrenaline surged through me, a jolt of raw power trying to cut through the alcohol-induced haze. My shifter strength thrummed beneath my skin, a desperate urge to break free. But I was outnumbered and cornered, and the thought of shifting and revealing my true nature in the middle of the street was a risk I couldn’t take.

Another of the thugs reached for me, his fingers digging into my upper arm, squeezing and holding me against the rough brick. The coldness of the brick wall seeped in against my back. The first man started to unbuckle his belt, the metallic rasp of the buckle a horrifying sound in the quiet of the night.

I winced, struggling against their combined strength, but the other man’s grip only tightened. The sidewalk tilted beneath my feet as a wave of nausea washed over me, cold sweat prickling my skin. My wolf clawed at the edges of my control, desperate to defend herself.

In a final attempt to fight back, I raised my knee, aiming for the thug’s groin. He quickly reacted, blocking my strike and slamming his work boot down on the inside of my ankle. A searing pain exploded. I let out a cry of agony as a blinding pain coursed through my leg, making me feel like it was about to collapse underneath me.

The thug took advantage of my momentary incapacitation to lean in, his hot, fetid breath washing over my face. Just as he raised his hand, his fingers reaching for my throat, a voice cut through the stillness, low and dangerous, like the rumble of distant thunder. “Get away from her.”

The grip on my arm loosened slightly, and my gaze darted through the shadows, searching for the source. My vision swam, but I could make out a figure standing a few feet away, silhouetted against the dim light, his presence radiating a quiet, unwavering power.

The thugs hesitated, their eyes flicking between me and the newcomer. The first man spat on the sidewalk, but his bravado faltered as he took a step away from me. His buddy turned to the newcomer, too.

The stranger was a tall, imposing figure with eyes that seemed to pierce through the darkness. He moved with a quiet confidence, his presence commanding attention.

The first thug, emboldened by his two companions, puffed out his chest. “Mind your own business. This doesn’t concern you.” He took a step forward, trying to intimidate the newcomer.

The stranger stopped a few feet away, his gaze unwavering. “I’m making it my business. You have ten seconds to leave, or you’ll regret it.” His voice was calm, but a current of steel ran beneath it, sending a shiver down my spine even in my drunken state.

The thug scoffed. A swagger suffused his step. “Three against one? I like our odds.”

Before anyone could blink, the newcomer moved. He closed the distance between him and the first thug with lightning speed, delivering a sharp, brutal punch to the man’s solar plexus. The thug doubled over, gasping for air.

The stranger didn’t give him a chance to recover, following up with a powerful right hook to the man’s temple, sending him stumbling backward to crash against his friends. The second thug lunged at the newcomer but didn’t stand a chance. The stranger dodged the clumsy attack and landed a swift uppercut that snapped the thug’s head back, dazing him as he staggered along the sidewalk.

The third man, seeing his buddies defeated in a matter of seconds, muttered, “Fuck this,” turned and bolted.

The other two thugs, still reeling from the newcomer’s blows, joined the panicked retreat, stumbling and pushing in their haste to escape.

The lingering residue of shock and fear wafted over me, and I felt my face flush with embarrassment. I’d been a moron coming out here while my reactions had been so dulled with liquor. But as I locked eyes with the stranger, I felt a spark of connection ignite within me. If his lightning-fast reflexes hadn’t been enough, his scent—a raw, undeniable spice that filled the air—told me he was a shifter, too.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice firm but gentle.

I nodded, still trying to process what had just happened. The overriding feeling I was experiencing now was shame at my own recklessness. “Just feeling like an idiot,” I murmured.

“Don’t beat yourself up—you did well not to shift, given the circumstances,” my rescuer said. His words sent a comforting warmth through me as my cheeks heated more at his praise.

I went to move away from the wall, but as I put pressure on my ankle, hot pain issued up my leg, making me gasp.

In a moment, he was beside me. “They hurt you?” The low rumble of his tone had goosebumps breaking over my arms. His body bristled with tension that made my heart flutter.

“Just my ankle,” I murmured.

“Lean on me,” he offered.

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