Page 17 of Trust No Alpha
“You’re here early.” I slid off the couch and stood. “Are Mathias and Trigg all right?”
“Mathias and Trigg are fine.”
“Good.”
As I took a step in Father’s direction, he moved toward me in swift strides, the crease at his brow deep and dark, his lean, still fit body sliding through the bedroom shadows like a sleek wolf about to pounce.
I backed up and the insides of my knees hit the edge of the couch.
I was tall, but Father stood inches above me. He stopped his approach abruptly, an inch from me, his face so close I could smell the heat of his breath.
“You smell like the fields in spring, but sweeter. Your hair is like honey. The nectar of you must be divine,” he whispered. His hand came up and the flat of his palm curved at the back of my head.
Adrenaline rushed my system with a sting of panic. He smelled of fire and ash and smoke. My entire body tingled in knowing fear.
Father was in the Burn.
I didn’t know what to do. Sudden moves, I knew, would be unwise.
Slowly, I began to edge to the side, pulling myself away from his touch on my head.
“Father, it’s me. Kris,” I said gently.
He blinked but did not move. “Kris. My favorite most beautiful son.”
His right hand came around my waist. He brought my body into contact with his. I felt his arousal, full and hard against me.
“Father. Listen.” I spoke just above a whisper. “You need to go. To the chattel farms. Now.”
“Kris…” He stroked his hand from my waist down to my buttocks.
“You have to go, Father. Now!”
I tried to move away, but he only followed.
“The sweetest I’ve ever experienced. The very air of you,” he said. “I must—must--”
His hand tugged my shirt from my waistband. Before I knew what was happening, he pulled with an abrupt shift of strength and tore it. The buttons popped. The seams gave away.
In the Burn, Alpha strength often increased.
I was stronger and quicker than Father by virtue of my upbringing and youth. But maybe not during the Burn. Plus, as angry as I was at being locked away, I didn’t want to hurt him.
I needed to bring him to his senses.
“Father! You need an Omega. Not me! Father!”
I felt his arousal against my hip. The hardness so tight against me. The pulse. He blinked, still holding me close. His hand on my head and his arm at my back kept me right up against him. His breath steamed in my face. “Kris. Kris. I’ve dreamed. I’ve wanted.”
“No! Father! This is wrong! This isn’t what you want!”
He rubbed his cheek against mine. It was damp with sweat. With fever. His breaths grew more rapid. More tortured.
My shirt fell tattered to the floor. His fingers curled about my waistband, a death grip.
The button to my trousers popped open.
I could not let it go any further. Father was not in his right mind. I knew he didn’t want to hurt me. And he’d never forgive himself if he did.
