THE ALPHA’S ADDICTION

He could no longer fool himself. Slowly, with infinite weariness, Aiden closed the leather-bound book. This was the end. He could no longer bear it. The books he loved so much could not push away the stark, raw loneliness of his existence. The study was lined with books, floor to ceiling on three of the four walls of the room. He had read every one, committed a great many to memory over the centuries. They no longer provided solace for his mind. The books fed his intellect but broke his heart.

He could not sleep either.

It was midday but he couldn’t sleep, and he didn’t know why.

Another effect of the ring?

He wasn’t sure, and he didn’t want to disturb his twin brother again.

He had slept off after talking to him, only to wake up after seeing the same lady in his dream.

It made him wonder where Emma was.

He hadn’t seen her since Friday.

Perhaps he would try to fly around, and check in on her. He thought, putting on a cloak.

“Why are you so sad?”

Aiden became still, only his soulless eyes moving warily, a dangerous predator scenting danger. He inhaled deeply, closing his mind instantly, while all senses flared out to locate the intruder. He was alone. He couldn’t be wrong.

So who was speaking?

No one could penetrate his safeguards. No one could approach him without his knowledge.

Curious, he replayed the words, listened to the voice. Female, young, intelligent. He allowed his mind to open slightly, testing paths, looking for mental footprints.

“I have found it to be so.” He agreed. He realized he was holding his breath, needing contact. A witch. Who gave a damn? He was interested.

“Sometimes, I go into the mountains and stay by myself for days, weeks, and I’m not lonely or sad, yet at a party, surrounded by a hundred people, I am more lonely than ever, well except in the company of my friend.”

His gut clenched hotly. Her voice, filling his mind, was soft, musical, sexy in its innocence. Aiden was shocked. The voice sounded like Emma’s but of a finer quality. He was astonished at the gathering fire in his veins.

“How is it you can talk to me?” He asked, resting on the wall, hoping that she would talk to him.

He needed to confirm something.

“I’m sorry if I offended you.” She replied.

He could clearly hear that she meant it, and felt her apology.

“Your sadness was so sharp, I couldn’t ignore it. I thought you might like to talk. In any case, I’ll stop if you wish.” She said.

“No .!” He screamed through the mind path.

His protest was a command, an imperious order given by a being used to instant obedience.

He felt her laughter before the sound registered in his mind. Soft, carefree, inviting.

“Are you used to obedience from everyone around you?” She asked.

“Absolutely.” He replied.

He didn’t know how to take her laughter. He was intrigued. Feelings. Emotions. They crowded in until he was nearly overwhelmed.

“You’re European, aren’t you? Wealthy, and very, very arrogant.” She inquired.

He found himself smiling at her teasing. He never smiled, not until the human had come around. Could this be her? After all she had opened up her mind to him when he had come to her as a bird. Had she finally accepted him? What about the wolf boy? Where was she?

Did she even know who she was talking with?

“All of those things.” He finally said.

He waited for her laughter again, needing it with the same craving an addict felt for a drug.

When it came, it was low and amused, as caressing as the touch of fingers on his skin

“I’m an American. Oil and water, don’t you think?” She inquired.

He had a fix on her now, a direction. She would not get away from him.

“American women can be trained with the right methods.”This is from NôvelDrama.Org.

He drawled it deliberately, anticipating her reaction.

“You really are arrogant.” She intoned, before laughing.

He loved the sound of her laughter, savored it, and took it into his body. He felt her drowsiness, her yawn. So much the better. He sent her a light mental push, very delicate, wanting her to sleep so he could examine her.

“Knock it off!” She shouted.

Her reaction was quick withdrawal, hurt, suspicion. She retreated, slamming up a mind block so swiftly, he was astonished at how adept she was, how strong for one so young, strong for a witch. Witch??!

He cussed as he made the deductions the second time.

It couldn’t be Emma then.

Emma was a human, not a witch.

Who was this?

He tested her block, careful not to alarm her. A faint smile touched his well-cut mouth. She was strong, but not nearly strong enough.

His body, hard-corded muscle and superhuman strength, shimmered, dissolved, became a faint crystal mist seeping beneath the door, streaming into the afternoon air. Droplets beaded, collected, connected, formed a large winged bird. It dipped, circled, and swept across the lightened sky, silent, lethal, beautiful.

“What are you doing?” He heard her ask.

“Flying.” He replied truthfully, noting the awe that creeped into her silent laughter.

“You seem to be of the same kind with my friend.” She stated.

“What friend?” He asked, already feeling jealous of the person who had made her feel less lonely.

“Yodah. You are the one I see in my dreams right?” She asked.

“Perhaps.” He replied, trailing her location, not wanting to give off an unsure answer. He wanted to see her first.

Aiden reveled in the power of flight, the wind rushing against his body, the hot air speaking to him, whispering secrets, carrying the scent of game, of man. For this once, he was happy for the ring. He followed the faint psychic trail unerringly. So simple. Yet his blood was surging hotly. A woman, young, full of life and laughter, a witch with a psychic connection to him. A woman filled with compassion, intellect, and strength. Death and damnation could wait another day while he satisfied his curiosity.

“What’s your name?” He asked, gearing to confirm the first stance.

“Freya.” She replied.

Not Emma then. He thought.