DEN OF THE ALPHAS (Steamy Werebear Shifter BBW Menage Romance) Read Online Free Page B
Author: Willow Wilde
off-camera. They had been high school sweethearts, and this picture had been taken a few weeks before their graduation. They looked so young, so full of life. They wore the faces of people who had not a single care in the entire world.
That was before everything was taken from them. Taken from me.
Snapping the locket shut as I slipped it back against my skin beneath my tight-fitting top, I pulled the leather jacket around myself tighter. Within seconds, I was back on the highway, my eyes dead ahead on my destination: Greenpaw Mountain.
Overpowering my own tension was easy with the motorcycle between my thighs, thrumming loudly and powerfully. Weaving between cars as I swapped lanes like discarded lovers, the rush of the wind filled my veins with euphoria. This was the part of what I did that I truly loved. The fresh air, pelting over me as I sailed across the highways — I had always felt stifled driving a car, breathing the same general air. No, I liked it free and wild, rippling around my body as I surged down the interstate. The smells, too — being in the cities was usually a cacophony of gaseous, industrial mess, and I generally tried to spend as much time outside of them as I could. Once I hit the road and passed across long stretches free of chemical plants, refineries, and factories, I felt alive again.
My fingers tightened around the grips as I wove a particularly narrow turn between two cars. The driver on the left had been holding up traffic with the self-entitlement complex I saw seemingly every few minutes on the road. You would always see these better-than-thou folks closing off the passing lane, despite it being illegal in many states. They thought it was their duty to run the speed limit and prevent speedsters like me from breaking the law.
I turned my helmet to face the left driver as I sailed between the cars. She was glaring indignantly at me, a skinny little twerp no older than myself.
Hate to burst your carefully manicured bubble, sweetheart, but I break a whole lot of laws.
As I put her in the rear view of my side mirror, I glanced quickly towards the sun. On the horizon was the very cusp of sunset, the colors already beginning to change into their beautiful array of oranges and reds. I knew that they would look particularly beautiful over the plains, as I’d seen this sort of grand, eye-filling canvas before. With a heart full of anticipation, I felt a certain sense of peace overcome me.
This is where I belong , I thought to myself. In tiny moments like these — quiet, beautiful, and free. This is what I really live for.
With that mantra in mind, I focused on the road to come. I had another forty-five minutes of driving ahead, and plenty of time to absorb the setting sun during the final leg of my journey.
* * * *
Under the heel of my boot, I knocked down the kickstand to my motorcycle in the police department parking lot. Removing my helmet, I shook my long, curly hair free — it had been a long drive, and I was ready for a little refreshment.
But there was work to be done first.
With my head held high, I strolled into the small, quaint front office of the police department. Behind the desk was a lowly attendant, an elderly, miserly croak without an ounce of verifiable muscle beneath his thin glob of skin.
“Welcome to the Denham Police Department. How can I help you?” His raspy voice rumbled out.
“I’m here to speak to the police chief,” I answered calmly.
“What is the nature of your visit?”
With thinly-suppressed exasperation, I reached into my pocket and whipped out my badge. Flipping up the leather, the silver emblem of my profession immediately widened the clerk’s eyes, and he lifted the phone and punched in a few numbers.
“Yes, there’s someone to see you…yes, that’s her…right. Okay.” He set the
That was before everything was taken from them. Taken from me.
Snapping the locket shut as I slipped it back against my skin beneath my tight-fitting top, I pulled the leather jacket around myself tighter. Within seconds, I was back on the highway, my eyes dead ahead on my destination: Greenpaw Mountain.
Overpowering my own tension was easy with the motorcycle between my thighs, thrumming loudly and powerfully. Weaving between cars as I swapped lanes like discarded lovers, the rush of the wind filled my veins with euphoria. This was the part of what I did that I truly loved. The fresh air, pelting over me as I sailed across the highways — I had always felt stifled driving a car, breathing the same general air. No, I liked it free and wild, rippling around my body as I surged down the interstate. The smells, too — being in the cities was usually a cacophony of gaseous, industrial mess, and I generally tried to spend as much time outside of them as I could. Once I hit the road and passed across long stretches free of chemical plants, refineries, and factories, I felt alive again.
My fingers tightened around the grips as I wove a particularly narrow turn between two cars. The driver on the left had been holding up traffic with the self-entitlement complex I saw seemingly every few minutes on the road. You would always see these better-than-thou folks closing off the passing lane, despite it being illegal in many states. They thought it was their duty to run the speed limit and prevent speedsters like me from breaking the law.
I turned my helmet to face the left driver as I sailed between the cars. She was glaring indignantly at me, a skinny little twerp no older than myself.
Hate to burst your carefully manicured bubble, sweetheart, but I break a whole lot of laws.
As I put her in the rear view of my side mirror, I glanced quickly towards the sun. On the horizon was the very cusp of sunset, the colors already beginning to change into their beautiful array of oranges and reds. I knew that they would look particularly beautiful over the plains, as I’d seen this sort of grand, eye-filling canvas before. With a heart full of anticipation, I felt a certain sense of peace overcome me.
This is where I belong , I thought to myself. In tiny moments like these — quiet, beautiful, and free. This is what I really live for.
With that mantra in mind, I focused on the road to come. I had another forty-five minutes of driving ahead, and plenty of time to absorb the setting sun during the final leg of my journey.
* * * *
Under the heel of my boot, I knocked down the kickstand to my motorcycle in the police department parking lot. Removing my helmet, I shook my long, curly hair free — it had been a long drive, and I was ready for a little refreshment.
But there was work to be done first.
With my head held high, I strolled into the small, quaint front office of the police department. Behind the desk was a lowly attendant, an elderly, miserly croak without an ounce of verifiable muscle beneath his thin glob of skin.
“Welcome to the Denham Police Department. How can I help you?” His raspy voice rumbled out.
“I’m here to speak to the police chief,” I answered calmly.
“What is the nature of your visit?”
With thinly-suppressed exasperation, I reached into my pocket and whipped out my badge. Flipping up the leather, the silver emblem of my profession immediately widened the clerk’s eyes, and he lifted the phone and punched in a few numbers.
“Yes, there’s someone to see you…yes, that’s her…right. Okay.” He set the
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