ALPHAS COMMAND

Genetic mutation brought on by climate change has divided the human race into three subspecies: leaders the predators and the protectors, dominions the nurturers, and betas who fall in between.This guy looks like to be a leader, except he's not as powerful as me. Of course, I have yet to meet another male as strong as me, and nope that's not my ego speaking, just hard facts.I peel back my mouth and my opponent squares his shoulders.He's shorter than me, leaner, and almost wiry in build.His brawns flex, and he clasps up his fists in front of him. There is a gun hooked to his belt, a sword on his back.All props. Not that I don't resort to them when faced with a worthy opponent. This man doesn't seem dangerous. Bet, I can take him with my bare arms, after all, that’s how I survived all this time on the streets. With my guts, my wits, one day at a time.“Get out of my way.”He stays where he is, gray eyes, shining w

Alter’s room is big, at least five times the size of the hovel I grew up in.On one side there are ground-to-ceiling windows that let in the fading light. There is a massive couch, with the high couch frame taking up most of the wall at the back. It’s exactly how I remember.Same wooden grounds, the same rancid smell of overripe bodies and stale sweat; same idiot on the mattress, just a different dominion.She faces me, her hair streaming forward to cover her ample boobs. Her heavy flesh bounces as she moves, riding the man below her, reverse cowgirl style.She throws her head back, and for a second, I can’t help but admire the clean planes of her concave stomach that curve down to meet her pussy. Nestled into it is the girth of my dad's shaft, there right between her legs.The need to hurt pounds at my temples. I throw up my fists and march forward. I am going to shiting hurt this man.Halfway to the couch, the fragrance o

The warmth from his body surrounds me. I wallow in it, burrowing in even deeper. The sense of the planes rippling under my fingertips makes me want to stretch out my fingers so every part is in contact with those ripped brawns. The fragrance of him, earthy and woodsy like burned cinnamon and liberally laced with testosterone pours over me.I know I am dreaming, yet I can't stop my womb from contracting. Slick flows out from between my legs. I smell the sugary sweet smell of my own arousal. That turns me on even more. "Leader." I raise my look to his face.A growl rumbles up his chest and twines around me. The depth in the tone snatches at my nerve endings.My shoulders shudder. Warmth flushes my cheeks.His brown eyes narrow on me. Silver and so many shades of turquoise burn in their depths. There is lust—so much lust—in his look, and something else, something feral and untamed. He is going to break me, I know that with every molecule in my bo

I swagger up the grand hall in the stronghold. My booted legs echo on the wooden ground. Massive windows at the side let in the bluish-gray light of the day. The room is packed with leaders who belonged to Alter’s Council. I pass close to one of them, and he steps aside. When I turn to meet his look, he lowers his head. The stink of tension reinforces the air, and the hair on the nape of my neck rises. They are afraid of me. Good. I sense their look following me, yet not one of them tries to stop me. The losers have come to watch the entertainment for today, provided courtesy of me. A low chuckle rips out of me.I stride toward the platform at the front of the room.John moves forward as if to climb onto the dais alongside me.I raise a hand.He halts and wrinkles his forehead. “You know the protocol, Rocky.” His sound is cold. “As the interim second to Alter, I am supposed to introduce you to the Council and its associates.”

“Boo!” I bare my teeth. The soldier cringes, and sweat beads his forehead.“Really, Z?” My second-in-command narrows his gaze.I raise my shoulders then let them drop. “Okay, a bit over the top.” But, cut me some slack, okay? I like to play with my prey.Besides, I have a flair for the dramatic, one of the few redeeming features I inherited from my bastard of a father. Except, oh, wait, I was the bastard in that relationship, given he’d never acknowledged me…not until I had my fingers around Golan’s neck and recognition had dawned in his eyes. Too late, Pater. Thirty years too late.The soldier’s skin is stretched so tight over his cheekbones that I expect it to crack any moment. The reek of piss stinks up the warehouse. The fool, clearly a beta by the way his shoulders are hunched, has wet himself. I yawn aloud. The sound of my jaws cracking seems to sn