America Jacket Hetalia Novels & Stories

she demanded, her voice tinged with urgency. Alpha Haden hesitated, torn between the pull of his instincts and the pressing need to pretend like he didn't want Zaryn off his sight. His inner turmoil was still interrupted by the persistent whispers of Gaya, a voice only he could hear. “Your mate is Tasyra,” Gaya repeated, each chant digging deeper into Alpha Haden's head.

Henrietta said, wearing a fake smile on her face even though she was upset. “I really don’t want you to think that I don’t respect you or appreciate your offer, my lady. I genuinely appreciate the fact that you consider me worthy to work with you and if the circumstances had been different, I would have jumped at the opportunity in a heartbeat. It’s unfortunate that I already swore loyalty to the alpha and I’m not one to go back on my word or revert my loyalty. I sincerely hope that you can understand, my lady,” Lydia said, hoping that her words would be enough to keep the alpha's mother from being upset with her.

"Okay, deal. I also want to hear a pretty girl sing me 'Happy Birthday' on a day that’s not my birthday. So lube up those vocals with a nice drink with our Alpha, then join us by the table in ten. Deal?” "Deal.” I respond and turn to the amused Alpha. “You set me up.” “In my defence, they are friendly to everyone, and I will pay on your behalf.” “Goodness me; the Alpha anticipates my loss?” I ask in a mock, surprised tone. “Duh, you are the citiest of all city folk.” “That’s not a word, Alpha.” “It is now, here.” The Alpha takes off his sexy jacket and wraps it around my frame. “I was cold outside, I'm fine now.”

As all Alphas have some are stronger than others. His freshly styled pompadour chocolate hair stood resolute against the calming autumn breeze, not one strand out of place. Rugged facial hair that made him look dangerous. His chiselled muscles just aching to burst from his well fitted white shirt and black slacks. With a noticeable thick black etching of tattoo's down both arms. A part of me wanted to see what else he has hiding beneath his clothes. Then my eyes met his they were sapphire blue, the pure rage he was sending my way was strong and unbearable, as if something inside me ached for his affection.

Kaizer replied. The two men nodded and left. I looked at him with confusion. “Why did they call you Alpha?” I asked. “Because I am their leader,” he said calmly. “And you are their Luna.” What? Another strange word. Luna? Before I could question him further, he stood up. “I need to go now,” he said. “Where are you going?” I asked, but he did not answer right away. He only looked at me. Suddenly, the words from earlier flashed in my mind. Harmed deltas. Dead rogues. Harmed. Died. Holy shit.

I put on my best fake smile and nodded to him. “If you ever speak to her like that again, I’m afraid I will have to kill you,” Duncan added, his face calm and empty, but his voice was like ice. Ice, that would cut your throat in a blink of an eye. “Lieto di conoscerti, Luna Moira,” he bowed respectfully, but I could see in his eyes that he would have gladly strangled me to death. “I wish I could tell you the same, Alpha D’Angeli,” I returned his bow but refused to answer in Italian. One would think that being a third-generation immigrant, he speaks fluent English, but I guess being a show-off was in his blood.

I instantly rushed over to her and took her into the basement, "Stay here, don't move." She nodded at me while I remove my gun and loaded it before going back upstairs. The door flew open, revealing six men in black suits, heavily armed. I scanned their skin in search for any tattoos and felt my heart skip a beat when I saw a tattoo on their wrists. A fucking Dragon. It was the Russian Mafia.

The first-ranked Alpha was around in his late 20s and rumours had it that he already had seven kids and 2 concubines in addition to his Luna. After another 30 minutes, the second-ranked Alpha arrived looking more majestic than the other two Alphas. He's dressed in a golden brown top coat made of Vicuna wool with a white turtle neck shirt made of baby cashmere underneath it. His black pants were also of vicuna fabric and his black and gold checkered leather shoes screamed 'Custom made!' and had the letters R.P. at the heels. At the hem of the right side of his jacket was an image of a fearsome black wolf with red eyes and a moonstone necklace around its neck- the brand of Ralton pack. His Bet