Rogue Games: Jamie

JAMIE

F rom the shadows, I watch him, taking in every subtle shift in his body language and every faint flicker of emotion on his almost perfectly blank expression. He's handsome, strikingly so and stands tall, taking in his surroundings with the kind of self-assured confidence most alpha males exude. If it weren't for the way his hand hangs by his side, clenched into a tight fist, I'd never know that he's uncomfortable here.

I've heard the rumours, the fire-side stories told about his reclusive pack, and more recently, about how he's been trying to turn things around.

But he's not fooling me. Dean Reynolds is not what he says he is.

And I don't believe for one second this man, with a reputation as the angriest alpha around, has suddenly turned into a pussy cat.

Keeping to the almost absolute darkness surrounding the brewery, deep on Grey Ridge territory and away from the lights of the town, I observe my fellow shifters.

The launch of the Alpha Games is in full swing now, laughter and the steady thump thump of music filling the night air. The best of the best are here. The strongest wolves, from packs all over the country, have come to throw their name into the ring, and size up the competition.

Drinks are flowing and a cloud of testosterone hangs thick in the air. The males preen and posture, showing off their muscles and dominance. Women from packs all over have travelled here hoping to trigger the bond and find a mate among these elite specimens let their eyes take their fill.

For most she-wolves, these men represent the pick of the bunch, and this is a rare opportunity. I can't think of another time when so many high ranking wolves are gathered at the one time.

But fated mates are still hard to find.

And from the heady atmosphere of lust and desire, there's still the possibility of romance for those not lucky enough to stumble across their fated. Most of these wolves are hoping to find the one meant for them, but in the meantime, they're here to have fun.

Rolling my eyes at the wolves who show off, thinking they're the top dog, shouting and high-fiving, I scan the crowd, taking note instead of the ones who stand back and observe, who aren't trying to be the centre of attention. These are the most dangerous competitors, the ones I need to pay close attention to.

Alpha Reynolds takes a deep breath, his eyes darkening to almost black, as a boisterous young shifter crashes into the barrier beside him, surrounding the obstacle course. A glass bottle slips through the shifters fingers and only Dean's lightning fast reflexes stop the beer smashing on the ground.

The growl Dean directs at the shifter as he hands the bottle back is enough to sober anyone up and the chastened wolf scurries away, face pale.

Forcing back a smile at the fear he instils with one tiny sound, and the amused tilt of his lips, I refocus on my potential future opponents. They are why I'm here tonight, to gather intel ahead of the actual competition.

The prize tonight is a pass on the first qualifying round, extremely valuable to whoever wins it when the quality of competitors is as fierce as this. The ultimate winner of the Alpha Games gets a pack of their own, to rule and shape. A forever home. As prizes go, it's life-changing.

For those of us not privileged enough to be the first born child of a sitting alpha, it's a golden ticket, a once in a life time chance. It's no wonder the entire shifter community is buzzing with excitement at what the games will bring.

Running a competition to replace an outgoing alpha hasn't been done for decades, but Blake Steel, the relatively new Head Alpha of the region, seems to enjoy changing things up. Watching the crowds who've turned out in their droves to celebrate the launch of the games, the decision to revive the old tradition seems to be a popular decision.

With everyone except one man.

As a fist fight breaks out right in front of him over some jostling on the starting line, Dean pinches the bridge of his nose and closes his eyes to take a deep breath. One of the Grey Ridge pack tries to reason with the men, warning them they'll lose their chance to participate if they don't calm down, but emotions are high. His pleas for calm fall on deaf ears as the two hyped up shifters look like they're edging closer to shifting and fighting.

Recklessness is not a good quality in a future alpha, and shifting in a public place is as fool hardy as it gets. Dean's eyes narrow and I can almost see him writing them off as likely contenders in his mind.

The fight intensifies, snarling and growling, getting louder and attracting more attention. Instead of using his alpha dominance to put everyone back in their place and quashing the dispute, Dean looks to the heavens, his dark hair brushing the back of his collar and his eyes squeeze shut like he's praying for patience.

Or is it control?

"Stop," Dean orders quietly, and while one wolf stands down, straightening and pulling his lips back down over his bared teeth, the other isn't clever enough to heed his warning. The only one he'll get apparently. With a sickening thud, an uppercut to the jaw sends the contestant to the floor at Dean's feet, out cold. I barely saw Dean's hands move. The man never stood a chance.

I stare slack-jawed as Dean merely steps over him, like he's a fallen branch and not a person, before the man's friends rush forward to help him, eyeing Dean warily.

Raising his beer to his lips, Dean takes a long swallow, stares blankly at the other guilty party beside him who grins in delight at his enemies downfall. Instead of offering him a hand up, he appears to taunt him, jabbing a finger in the dazed man's face as his friends help him sit up.

With a weary sigh, Dean reaches out and tugs the number off the jeering man's shirt, tearing it in two and dropping it into the dirt. It looks like both shifters' chances to win the pack are over before they've begun.

The shifter growls, furious at his elimination, but his protests are cut off by a mere raised eyebrow from Dean. Instead of arguing, he storms off, cursing how unfair it is. Dean's expression remains completely neutral. He ignores the concerned stares he's getting from all around him, as he gestures for the next participants to get ready to race. Like nothing just happened.

So the rumours are true. He really is a cold-hearted bastard, just like his father.

The only trace of humanity I see is when his sister greets him with a warm smile, slipping her arm around his waist. Dipping his head to whisper in his ear, his black hair falls forward across his forehead. Even as he speaks to her, he continues to scan the party over her shoulder. As his steely gaze drifts past my hiding spot, it seems to pause, just for a millisecond, before continuing around the crowd.

My heart pounds wildly in my chest. He can't see me. There's no way. And with so many scents, mine couldn't have caught his attention. I was so careful. I'm standing down wind. And yet somehow, he's aware of my presence. Seemingly unconcerned, he continues to look around, before returning to scan the trees close to my vantage point. Whatever he says to his sister elicits an exasperated sigh from her and she shakes her head, but his focus isn't on her. It's on me.

My nerves tingle in a mixture of excitement and fear. I need to leave right now. I'm about to risk breaking cover and running when a commotion catches everyone's attention. Through the side door of the bar, a man emerges, carrying a dark haired woman who writhes in his arms. As the scent of her heat is caught by the already amped up males around, they turn and take chase. Terrifying is the only word for the scenes I'm watching unfold. It's chaos, as shifters come from everywhere, some fighting to get to the woman, other's blocking their way and taking down as many as they can.

Yet Dean Reynolds ignores the riot starting in front of him, and keeps his eyes locked on my position. I hold my breath, waiting to see what he does next. Except he does nothing but wait. Teeth and claws fly, vicious snarls and the sound of fists hitting flesh fill the air, as friends and pack-mates tear each other apart to get at the female who's ripe for breeding.

Dean closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. He sighs and pushes his shoulders back.

I expect him to enter the fray, giving me the chance to escape, but instead of reacting as everyone else, the scent driving them into a frenzy, once again, he astounds me by simply turning on his heel and walking to a dark SUV parked near the entrance.

Without a word to anyone, he climbs behind the wheel, starts the engine and drives off, completely uninterested in the carnage behind him. He must be mated. It's the only explanation. But in all my research, nobody has ever mentioned any women connected to the mysterious alpha.

If he does have a mate, where is he hiding her? Is that the only thing he's hiding from the world?