Alpha Luna 11_His Trouble Maker Luna

Chapter 11 

 JESSICA

 “Grayson-”

 “Shut up,” he growls.

 I shove at his chest–hard–but it’s like pushing against a wall of muscle wrapped in rage. He doesn’t budge. Instead, he catches both of my wrists in one hand–fast, rough–and yanks them up over my head, pinning them against the cold

 metal shelf behind me.

 The shelf rattles violently. Something tumbles off–a can? A box? I don’t know. It crashes to the floor like thunder, but I barely hear it.

 I’m too busy trying to breathe.

 His other hand grips my jaw–firm, possessive–and angles my face to the side like he’s done it a thousand times in his head.

 “Stop talking,” he snarls.

 Then he licks me.

 God.

 From the curve of my neck all the way up to just under my ear–slow, wet, iming–and I swear I feel it in every nerve, every fucking inch of me.

 I shiver.

 My stomach flips.

 Heat coils low–deep and fast and wrong.

 “God, you taste…” he groans, voice wrecked. “Fuck.”

 His mouth drags back down–kissing, sucking, biting–and I can’t even think straight. It’s too much.

 “You don’t get it, do you,” he mutters into my skin. Another kiss. Another bite.

 My fingers dig into the metal shelf behind me like it’s the only thing keeping me upright. “I’ve waited for this,” he groans. “Dreamed of this mouth. This neck.”

 He angles me again, dragging his tongue over my pulse, and I swear I moan like he just touched between my legs. My breath stutters. My hips twitch.

 I’m not even trying to hide it.

 “Grayson-

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 12:43 Wed, 30 Jul Gr

 “So soft,” he rasps. “So fuckin‘ sweet.”

 His hand slides under my shirt. Rough fingers against bare skin. I gasp again, my body arching into him on instinct.

 “I hate you,” I whisper.

 His tongue slides up my throat again. “Lie better,” he growls.

 blink. Hard. The memory rips away like it burned me–like my body still feels him pressed against mine, mouth hot and filthy against my skin.

 Asshole.

 My gaze rips into the field and to the asshole standing at the edge of it like a goddamn statue–arms crossed, shoulders squared, eyes locked on me.

 Grayson fucking Westwood.

 “One morep,” he barks.

 Loud. Sharp. In front of everyone.

 I freeze.

 I know half the pack’s watching now. Warriors. Trainees. Even that one she–wolf who keeps batting hershes at him like he’s not Satan in a ck shirt.

 “Are you kidding me?” I snap, turning with fire in my eyes. “I’ve done seven.”

 Seven.

 My legs are shaking. My lungs are begging. My shirt is soaked. And my pride? It’s already bleeding from the way he’s been ignoring me since that goddamn kiss.

 Logan jogs up beside me, panting.

 “I told you not to piss him off earlier,” he mutters.

 I re. “I didn’t do anything.”

 The sky groans above us.

 Dark clouds churning like the gods are watching this mess and seriously considering throwing hands. I feel a drop hits my shoulder. Then another.

 The air shifts–wet, thick, and mean.

 One more, Wilkinson,” Grayson calls out.

 I turn slowly, chest heaving, legs trembling, blood hot in my ears. “I’ve done seven,” I bite out. “Everyone else did five.”

 Then make it eight

 12:43 Wed, 30 Jul 

 I take one step forward, ready to snap, ready to tell him to shove his order right up his smug Alpha ass–but he cuts me off before I even open my mouth.

 “Or you can be a fucking example of what a weak omega looks like.”

 The words hit harder than they should. Harder than he probably meant them to. Or maybe he knew exactly what he was doing. I freeze where I stand. Logan mutters something under his breath-“Dude, what the fuck?“–but I don’t hear the rest. Everything else fades. Because the second Grayson said that–weak omega–something inside me fractures.

 My throat tightens. My chest burns. My eyes start to sting. Fuck.

 No. Not here. Not in front of all these people. Not in front of him.

 He kissed me. He touched me. He said I was his–acted like I was something he wanted, something worth chasing. And now he’s standing there like I’m just some pathetic trainee he gets to humiliate in front of the pack. Like that storage room. never happened. Like I imagined it all.

 I feel heat crawl up my neck, like shame and fury are fighting for space under my skin. I won’t give him the satisfaction. I won’t let him see me break. I straighten my spine, force the wobble out of my voice.

 “Fine,” I spit, each word sharp andced with ss. “You want one more?”

 And before anyone can say a word, before the tears can fall, I run.

 The sky opens up above me as I hit the track. Thunder rolls across the field like a warning, and the first drop of rain ps against my cheek like a second insult. Weak omega. His voice keeps echoing inside my skull, louder than the wind, heavier than the pounding of my feet.

 “Fucking weak?”

 1 round the far edge of the field, lungs on fire, heart mming like it’s trying to punch through my ribs.

 “Fuck you, Grayson!”

 I don’t care who hears. I hope he hears. I hope the whole goddamn pack hears. Let them watch me run–let them choke on <ol><li>it. </li></ol>

 Weak?

 He called me weak after shoving his tongue down my throat like I was the only thing he ever fucking wanted. After gripping my wrists like he couldn’t decide whether to kiss me or strangle me. After looking at me like mine meant something.

 And now I’m the example?

 Bite me, Alpha.

 Better yet–choke on it.

 My feet hit the track again, sshing through a puddle so hard water hits my thigh. I don’t stop. I run faster. Harder, Likel

 can outrun the sound of his voice. The heat still between my legs. The burn in my throat from swallowing 

 12:43 Wed, 30 Jul GEI

 Gods, I let him touch me.

 I liked it.

 And now he wants to parade me like some pathetic, mouthy little omega who can’t keep up?

 I’ll show him weak. I’ll show him fucking feral.

 imagine his face under my boot.

 imagine spitting in his mouth after I make him beg.

 My eyes burn. I blink hard, once, twice, don’t let the tears fall. I won’t cry over him.

 Not today.

 Not when my thighs are still clenching like they miss his fucking leg.

 “Fucking bastard,” I snarl under my breath.

 I swear to the Moon, if hees near me again–if he even looks at me–something growls behind me.

 My breath snags.

 I stop mid–stride, mud sucking at my boot like the forest itself just told me to fucking freeze.

 Shit.

 +20

 My body jerks, breath hitches sharp in my throat. I twist toward the trees–neck craning, shoulders braced–eyes darting through shadows like I can see what the fuck is watching me. My heart’s pounding now, wild and fast, the kind of panic that makes your mouth taste like metal.

 I step back.

 Then another.

 Heel hits a root-

 I stumble, catch myself on a tree, hand scraping bark, eyes still locked on the dark.

 The bushes move.

 I crouch slightly, knees bending, weight shifting to the balls of my feet. Ready to run. Ready to shift. Ready to fucking die if

 I have to.

 “Show yourself,” I whisper, voice shaking so hard I almost choke on the words. It sounds pathetic. Weak. I hate it.

 Rogue.

 It’s a fucking rogue.

 I try to step back again, but the moment I move, the thing snarls–loud–and then it’s on me.

 Alb 

 12:43 Wed, 30 Jul & GE

 A massive body ms into my side, knocking the breath straight out of my lungs. I hit the ground hard, shoulder first, spine cracking against wet earth as ws dig into the dirt beside my head.

 The rogue is on top of me, snarling, drooling, heavy. Its breath reeks–hot and sour and feral–and it snaps at my face, teeth gnashing inches from my cheek like it wants to rip it off and wear it.

 I thrash beneath it, kicking, punching, ws barely formed, but it’s stronger. So much fucking stronger.

 “Get off me–get the fuck off!” I scream, bucking my hips, trying to twist free, but the bastard just snarls louder and shoves

 me down harder into the mud.

 I feel its ws scrape across my ribs. It bites down on my shirt–snaps its fucking head back–and the fabric splits like skin. Shoulder to stomach, shredded. Gone. I feel air. Cold. Exposed. Like it’s already tasted me.

 The cold air ms into my bare skin and I shriek, twisting, punching, anything–my nails rake across fur but it doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t fucking move. It just growls again, deeper now, almost satisfied.

 Its snout lowers to my neck. I feel teeth graze my skin–not biting, not yet, just threatening.

 My throat is burning. My legs are shaking. My hands are soaked in mud and blood and I’m still fighting–but it’s not enough. I’m not fast enough. Strong enough. I can’t get it off.

 It’s pinning me like I’m prey.

 And that’s when it happens.

 I break.

 I don’t think. I don’t care.

 I just scream-

 “GRAYSON!”

 Louder than I’ve ever yelled his name,

 “GRAYSON!”

 “HELP ME!”

 My voice cracks on thest word. Tears mix with the rain and the rogue rears back, lips peeling over teeth, ready to sink them straight into my throat.

 “GRAYSON!” I scream, throat raw, voice shattering through the trees-

 right as the rogue sinks its teeth toward my neck and-

 5/6

NovelLamp

Alpha Luna 11