Page 12 of Golden Valley
Chapter 4
As the pack Alpha’s son, Morgan had been taught that he was an example to everyone in Golden Valley, so when other teens had snuck liquor or beer, he had steered clear. In truth, it hadn’t been a sacrifice. He had never enjoyed the scent or flavor of alcohol, and he had witnessed his older brother throwing up after a late night out enough times to learn that drinking didn’t mean fun. When his family was killed and he was forced to step into his father’s shoes, he was glad for those lessons because they were what kept him from drowning his sorrows and fears in a bottle. That and his underage status—humans didn't sell liquor to sixteen-year-olds.
Seven years later, he was naked on his office floor, a half-empty bottle of Jack in his hand, watching the swirls on the ceiling dance, and wondering if he should move to the bathroom so he’d be ready for inevitable vomiting. He raised his head and looked across the room speculatively.
“I can make it,” he said to himself. Enjoying the texture of the rug between his bare toes, he raised the bottle to his lips, took a swig, and then frowned. “How do people drink this shit?” He crinkled his nose and then drank some more. “Disgusting.” As he lowered his arm to the ground, the bottle almost slipped from his grip. “Should probably stop.” He blindly reached up to the end table beside the sofa and, after a few unsuccessful efforts, managed to find it and set the bottle down. “It isn’t working anyway.” Not if working meant helping him forget the presence of his mate in the house.
“Not my mate.” He shook his head, noticed the way it made his entire body feel like he was on a roller-coaster, and then shook it again. “Is this supposed to be fun?” He slowly rotated his head from side to side, decided he didn’t like it, and went back to watching the ceiling move. “Smells like mate, though. Feels like mate.” He gave in to the heaviness of his eyelids and let them rest. Without the sight of the moving room to occupy his vision, a new image formed, one of hazel eyes, slightly shaggy hair, and pale skin. “So pretty.” Morgan licked his own lips and remembered the pale pink ones on the angular face he had tried to avoid all through dinner. “Bet he tastes good.” Ricky smelled of lilacs, jasmine, and roses, plants Morgan’s mother grew in her garden. Definitely better than the whiskey invading his nostrils and coating his tongue.
Briefly, Morgan wondered why he had chosen to hole up in his office alone and drink instead of spending the evening with the most attractive person he had ever seen. “Because he already has an Alpha,” he reminded himself. The adorable Ricky Marx couldn’t be Morgan’s mate, because he was with the new Purple Sky Alpha. And that was for the best because Morgan didn’t want a male mate.
Physically, he was as attracted to men as he was to women, as was common in Golden Valley. He had never understood the culture in some other packs that rejected same-sex couplings. But attraction aside, a male mate would mean giving up the life he had always wanted. Well, giving upmoreof that life. Morgan was already pack Alpha, something his brother was meant to do; his family was gone, something he hadn’t considered in even his worst nightmares; and a male mate would mean no children. He’d never be able to teach a son to hunt a rabbit or braid a daughter’s hair. His family line would end with him. And a male who was also an Omega would terrify his entire pack. It probably wasn’t fair or logical, but Golden Valley’s only exposure to a male Omega had been to Timothy Tillers, the man who nearly destroyed it.
Fate wouldn’t do that to them. Not after they’d been through so much heartache. Not when Morgan had been trying his hardest to protect and lead them. No, Ricky couldn’t be Morgan’s mate. But then why did everything about him call to Morgan on a cell-deep level?
Maybe his brother hadn’t been lying to justify his inconsiderate behavior. Maybe male Omegas did have some special power over Alphas and it confused Morgan’s body and mind. Except he didn’t feel confused. Anxious, yes. Curious, sure. Horny, definitely. But not confused. Every instinct he possessed, every sense he had, insisted that the man he had ignored all night was his fated mate.
It was too late to call Lillian for advice. Not that she wouldn’t get out of bed and come over if he asked, but he wouldn’t disrupt her family time, and besides, he wasn’t in a state to think clearly. Instead, he sent her a text, asking her to come over in the morning. They’d talk, he’d confess his feelings for their visitor, and they’d figure out a plan. Well, Lillian would figure out a plan, because Morgan likely would be hungover and definitely would be exhausted after sleeping on the floor all night. Or, more accurately, trying to sleep on the floor.
He stretched his bare legs and rolled onto his side, trying to get comfortable. The rug wasn’t thick enough to make that possible and the couch in his office was too short to fit his length, but Morgan didn’t trust himself to go to the bedroom side of the house, where Ricky was staying. Anything that brought him closer to the enticing Omega was a temptation he wouldn’t be able to resist.
He hadn’t shifted into his animal form for the same reason. Although a run as a wolf was normally his best way to relieve tension and clear his mind, trading his more logical human brain for his instinctual wolf was a sure path to bloodshed. Morgan’s animal would categorize Berger as a rival for his mate and he’d rip out his throat without hesitation.
The reminder of the Purple Sky Alpha made Morgan think about what his visitor was doing at that moment. Upstairs. In a bedroom. With Morgan’s mate.
“Not my mate,” he insisted through gritted teeth as his nails cut into his palms. “Just a random male Omega.” The pep talk wasn’t working and blood was about to drip onto the rug, so with a groan, Morgan pulled himself up and walked toward the attached bathroom.
“Killing people is bad,” he whispered as he turned on the faucet. But as he watched the red-tainted water swirl over the drain, he couldn’t remember why eliminating Berger would be a problem, so he tried a different tack. “Purple Sky needs an Alpha, and if I kill theirs, I’ll be stuck leading two packs.” The mere possibility of being responsible for yet another pack should have vanquished his drive to destroy Berger, but unfortunately, it didn’t. In that moment, Morgan would have been willing to lead the universe if he could do it with sweet-smelling, bright-eyed Ricky beside him.
Sucking in a deep breath, he closed his eyes and desperately tried to clear his mind. The water running over his palms was cool and slick. The scents of home filled the air—trees and soil and pack. He was needed here and that meant being calm and focused, instead of giving in to irrational emotions, no matter how strong.
When he felt more in control, Morgan opened his eyes, turned off the water, and stepped into the office. He’d go to sleep and wake up rested and back in control. A soft knock disrupted that simple plan almost the second it was formulated. Head snapping toward the door, Morgan inhaled and then gasped.
Another knock, quickly followed by a, “Uh, hello? Can I come in?”
The most enticing scent on earth wafted into his nose, and even through solid wood, that voice called to him.
“I’m alone,” said Ricky.
Dining with the Omega without claiming him as his mate had been a nearly insurmountable challenge. Now that Morgan was exhausted and drunk and didn’t have his nervous Beta and the angry Purple Sky Alpha as an audience, he wasn’t sure he had the strength resist.
“What do you need?” he rasped, the muscles in his legs twitching from the force he used to keep them rooted to the floor.
Ricky didn’t immediately respond, but Morgan’s full attention was now concentrated on the man on the other side of the door, so he knew Ricky hadn’t left. His scent strengthened, which likely meant he was sweating, his breathing got heavier, and his heart rate increased. The Omega was either scared, worried, or aroused. Morgan’s soul screamed at him to protect the weaker wolf if he was in danger, soothe him if he was anxious, and sate him if he was needy. Pulling the man into his arms was the first step to accomplishing any of those tasks, so Morgan shoved aside the logical part of his brain and strode toward the door.
Perhaps logic would have defeated instinct, stopping Morgan before he reached the door, but he would never know because the young Omega who had stared at him all through dinner without speaking and complacently left the room after the meal had, apparently, run out of patience.
The knob wasn’t turned slowly and the door wasn’t pushed timidly. One second, wood separated Morgan from the person he craved, and the next, he caught a glimpse of hazel eyes and then a rosy face dipped and he was staring at tousled brown hair.
“I need you,” Ricky said, his voice barely louder than a whisper. When Morgan didn’t speak, the smaller shifter came a step closer, keeping his eyes downcast. “We’re mates.” Another step. “Doesn’t that mean you need me too?”
For as long as he could remember, Morgan had dreamed of finding his mate. When he was forced into the role of Golden Valley Alpha, he had told himself that if he worked hard enough and did right by his pack, he would one day have the family he craved. But beneath the internal pep talk lived a truth he couldn’t ignore—he wasn’t the Alpha who should be leading Golden Valley, and he couldn’t fulfill his duties as well as his father had or his brother would have, so he wouldn’t be blessed with a mate. Now he stood mere inches from a shifter who smelled and sounded and felt likemate. But Ricky came to Golden Valley with another Alpha and he was a male Omega, two things that could cause discord in his pack. Even if the fates felt him worthy of a mate, would they truly deem this one a good fit for the Golden Valley pack?
“How do you know?” Morgan asked, the alcohol making him speak words that showed a lack of knowledge and confidence, both unacceptable traits in an Alpha.
The Omega snapped his gaze up, his crinkled forehead and squinting eyes indicating that Morgan’s question had taken him off guard. “It’s unmistakable.” He tilted his head to the side. “Don’t you sense it?” He drew in a deep breath and trembled. “And scent it?”
Head nodding, because his body absolutely agreed with the beautiful Omega, Morgan nevertheless said, “This isn’t a good idea,” because even the whiskey couldn’t drown out the very serious problems with his mating a male Omega, let alone the Omega of a neighboring pack’s Alpha. He was responsible for people’s lives; thinking of his own desires was something he had given up the moment he became pack Alpha. Golden Valley and Purple Sky could both suffer if he didn’t tread carefully and thoughtfully, which was near impossible when he was exhausted, drunk, and, miraculously given those two conditions, more erect than was comfortable.
