Page 2 of Tempted By the Alpha Outlaw

I start to notice the signs—a scored patch of earth here, claw marks raking across tree trunks there. A subtle trail of scents, layered and unmistakably lycan. Yeah, I’m getting close.

This pack…they’re not like the scavenging lone wolves I’ve run into before. They protect their own. Rumor has it they don’t take outsiders lightly, and their Prime? Word on the road was he used to be a real son-of-a-bitch about letting new blood in.

But I’m a resourceful bastard. A few well-placed bribes here, a little sweet talk there, and I greased the wheels enough to get past their screening process. Turns out they needed a mechanic. Lucky for them, I’m a damn good one.

Amongst other things.

The road twists and narrows, asphalt crumbling into gravel as I ride further in. The brush gets thicker, the trees darker, like the land itself is warning me to turn around. But then I see it—their perimeter fence.

Tall, wooden, and well-maintained, it’s the most remarkable feature in this stretch of wilderness. Eight feet, maybe more, with thick brambles woven around the base. They’re serious about keeping people out—or keeping something in. Either way, it’s impressive.

I slow as the road straightens, catching sight of a guard tower just beyond the fence. A neon green laser sweeps over me, landing on my chest, lingering too long for comfort.

The light dips slightly, then lowers altogether. Whoever’s up there is a little too trigger-happy for my liking.

“Friendly place,” I mutter.

The bike rumbles to a halt in front of the gates, the growl of the engine fading into an uneasy silence. The towering wooden panels are flanked by thick iron reinforcements, a patchwork of resourcefulness. Two figures stand on a watchtower above, rifles resting in their hands but ready to fire.

The redhead on the left has an affable, skeptical smile, like he’s seen enough not to trust strangers but doesn’t mind giving them a chance. He’s probably the one I’ll want to win over. The blonde on the right? Different story. She’s leaning against the railing, scowling like she's never screwed her face up any other way.. Even from here, I can feel her tension, like a coiled spring ready to snap.

My wolf bristles at her intensity. She’s not just posturing—she’s an alpha. And I’ve never met a female alpha before.

Before I can even dismount, she calls down—and, to my surprise, carrying a British accent. “Who the hell are you?”

I clear my throat and plaster on my best grin. “Colt Morgan,” I say, keeping my tone light and my hands visible. I swing off the bike slowly, making sure every movement is nonthreatening. “Reyes Garza said y’all needed a mechanic.”

Her eyes narrow. “Did he now?” she says, crossing her arms. “Funny, he didn’t mention anything about a drifter showing up unannounced.”

“Frankie,” the redhead mutters, like he’s used to playing mediator. “He mentioned it to me.”

Frankie. So that’s her name. Her gaze doesn’t waver, but I can see her jaw tighten as she glances at the redhead.

“Reyes said you were expecting me,” I add, letting my smile linger just long enough to be disarming. “I can fix just about anything. Engines, wiring, generators—whatever you need.”

She scoffs. “And what’s in it for you?”

“Frankie,” the redhead cuts in again, this time with more authority. He turns to me, his expression friendlier. “I’m Grant. Sorry about her—she doesn’t trust anyone.”

“I don’t trust idiots,” Frankie snaps, glaring at Grant before returning her attention to me. “And I’ve seen enough of them to know one when I see one.”

I shrug, letting her jab roll off me. “Fair enough. Guess you’ll have to decide which one I am.”

Before Frankie can respond, the gates creak open. The sound draws all of our attention, and I peer around the edge of the door to see a huge man walking through the gate, a statuesque brunette at his side. The guy is tall, broad, and bearded…but smiling.

He extends his hand. “Reyes Garza,” he says. “And you must be our mechanic.”

I smile back at him. “Colt Morgan,” I nod. “And this is…” I look at the woman, their scents mingling. “...your mate?”

She snorts, but extends her hand. “Tilda Bingham,” she says. “Sorry–still getting used to the ‘mate’ thing.”

“Gotcha,” I nod. “So…is there some place for me to stash my bike? I don't want it getting in the way.”

Reyes nods. “Follow me,” he says. “We'll give you the grand tour.”

The gate opens just a touch wider, and I follow Reyes and Tilda through to the other side. I catch one more glimpse at Frankie as I walk through, and I can't resist the urge to wiggle my fingers in a cheeky little wave.

She lunges. Grant stops her.

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