Winning the Alpha Read online

  There were cameras around so I knew that we have to be a little cautious or we’d come off as scheming bitches.

  “I’m hoping to get a chance to talk to him soon,” said Diana, smiling shyly. “But I have to say, I’m worried that I’ll get drunk if they keep pouring champagne.”

  “I’m hoping to get shit-faced before I talk to him,” Julia said. “I’m nicer when I’m drunk.”

  “Do you two get a sense of what he likes? What might help us to stick around?” I asked.

  “I don’t know if we can second-guess that, but like I said, you’ll be around for a while, honey,” Julia said.

  “You’re probably right. I feel a little more determined than I did earlier, though.”

  “Oh? Why’s that?” asked Diana.

  “No reason,” I said. I looked through the doorway which led out of the room. Tristan was standing in the hall speaking to a camera crew, a clipboard in his hand. I wished suddenly that I was on that crew instead of standing in the living room, wearing a dress someone had bought for me and trying to confront the fate that awaited me.

  “Well, I wish you both the best of luck,” Diana said sweetly. She was very nice indeed, though I couldn’t get a read on her to tell if she genuinely felt any interest in Craig or if she was simply giving in to the compulsion to compete.

  Even I, who had no real interest in Craig, felt that desire to win. This is why these shows do so well. Women are naturally competitive creatures and when there’s only one man around we each feel compelled to be the object of his desire. I wanted to feel sexy as much as any woman did, and my need was probably greater than some. I may have been wrong, but I’d always assumed that it was easier to feel desirable when you weighed the same as a pillow than when you looked like one.

  I wondered if maybe part of what rendered me competitive in this instance was my blood, my genes. If it was true that my father had been a shifter I supposed that my instinct might order me to seek out the alpha male. I tried to focus on this notion, to decide if maybe I should dismiss the thought of Tristan from my mind and consider the man I was here to attract. After all, it would go completely against my interests to fall for the producer; for one thing it could get me kicked off the show.

  While I stood deep in thought, a hand touched me gently on the shoulder. “Excuse me, Nicole?” a man’s voice said. I turned to see Craig, who’d apparently come in from his chat with the latest candidate. “Could I speak to you?”

  “Sure,” I said, and I smiled as I realized that a dozen cameras were now fixed on me. I followed him outside. He brought us to a very pretty gazebo beyond the swimming pool, which was lit by sparkly little white light bulbs that sort of resembled fireflies. Nice touch, I thought. The mood was of course ruined by the bright lights which the crew shone in our faces so that the cameras to pick us up.

  “Have a seat,” Craig said. I tried to focus, though it was impossible not to feel self-conscious with so many faces and lenses pointed at us. I sat down and Craig took a seat next to me.

  “So,” he said, “tell me about yourself.”

  I had an image of alpha males, whether human or not. Craig struck me as polite and unassuming, far from the aggressive man I would have expected. But I was under the impression that he was putting on an act; after all he wouldn’t want to shock the viewers if the goal of this show was to gently introduce the world to shifters. There would be prejudices to overcome, and coming out guns blazing would confirm stereotypes and make it more difficult for his kind to integrate themselves properly into society.

  “Well, like I told you, I’ve been studying English Literature. I’m trying now to figure out what I’ll do with my life,” I said. “To be honest, I was really pleased to have the opportunity to come here and….meet you.” I added the last two words, assuming they were what the producers and viewers would want.

  “And I’m very happy that you came. There’s something about you…”

  “Oh?”

  “You know now that I’m not like most men,” he said. “As such I don’t react to women in the way that a lot of men would.”

  I felt my back stiffen at these words. “What do you mean?” I asked, knowing as I let the words come out that I might regret the question.

  “I mean that the fact that you’re bigger than a lot of girls doesn’t bother me.”

  “Wow,” I said. How blunt of him. I was about to follow it with, “I’m so fucking glad you’re not turned off by my fat, you arrogant jackass,” but instead I stopped myself and said, “That’s very open-minded of you,” smiling sweetly at him. He wasn’t the only one who could act, after all.

  “I go on impulse. Instinct. A woman who’s voluptuous and curvaceous appeals to me as a mate. To be honest with you I wish there were more women here with your curves.”

  Never in my life had I felt like a piece of meat. I’d never understood when women talked about being objectified, not really. But suddenly I felt as though I was being sized up like a side of beef, poked and prodded, tested for freshness. Would my hips bear him fine pups? Were my breasts melon-like enough to satisfy his carnal urges?

  Again, I checked myself before speaking, hard though it was.

  “Well, that’s nice to hear,” I said. “And I’m so excited to meet you. You’re so…handsome.”

  “I just can’t wait to get to know you more. I like your smell,” he said. What a charmer. He wasn’t so good at behaving like a gentleman, was he? Tristan was right: this man was terrible with women.

  “Thanks. I like yours too.” He did smell good---that I could admit, at least.

  We chatted in a fairly banal way for the next few minutes and then the delightful Brittany walked up and smiled at me. “Do you mind if I interrupt?” she asked as the cameras zoned in on her. She seemed to feel entitled to a second conference with Craig.

  “He’s all yours,” I said, standing up. I was grateful to have an excuse to leave. I felt fairly confident that Craig would keep me around, and I had no real urge to spend more time being insincere.

  “Thanks so much,” said Brittany, putting a set of cold fingers on my forearm. Her frigid fingertips gave me the impression that she had no blood circulation. Maybe she was a zombie. How great would that be? It would certainly explain her boring personality and lack of brains.

  “You’re sooo welcome,” I said, and walked away, shuddering off the icy touch.

  “How did it go?” asked Julia when I found her.

  “It was fine. He doesn’t hate me for being the size of a house, so that’s nice. I think Shakespeare wrote a sonnet about that. ‘A rose that’s as fat as a whale still smells as sweet,’” I said.

  “Idiot,” said Julia under her breath.

  “It’s okay,” I said. “He seems nice.” A cameraman was making his way over to us so I shifted to my girl-in-awe-of-handsome-bachelor-man tone. I wondered if there were hidden cameras as well to capture our less attractive moments. I sort of hoped so.

  Sorry, mom.

  Seven:

  Dismissals and Wolves

  By the time Craig had spent time with each of the remaining women it must have been midnight at least. It seemed that days had passed, not hours, since I’d first met Julia back at the studio. I’d spent most of the evening by her side, getting to know her and liking her more and more.

  John gathered us all in the living room again. It was slightly less pristine than it had been when the evening had begun; I could see why they served champagne instead of red wine, as the splash marks from clumsy females faded quickly after contents of glasses had landed on unwelcoming cushions. A room full of women and booze had never been appealing to me and this evening had reminded me why. But at least no cat fights had erupted, possibly out of fear of the giant dog in our midst.

  “Ladies, it’s time for the dismissal ceremony,” said John solemnly.

  Dismissal. What a word for it. I sincerely hoped that any rejected women would get fired out of a cannon. I’d be safe, regardless of my fat
e; they could never fit me down the barrel of one of those things.

  “One by one, Craig will call the names of the women he’s chosen to remain with us in the house. Those who are not named must immediately leave.” Oh, please add “or be ripped apart by wild dogs.” Please please please.

  Craig took over, standing poised in the center of the room, surrounded by tidily arranged candidates.

  “Brittany,” he said after a suspenseful pause (no surprise there), and she walked over to him---frolicked, more like, her immovable breasts nevertheless clinging to her chest like superglued cantaloupes.

  “Noelle.” I could see a pattern already. Faux women first.

  “Nikki.” Third? I was third. I didn’t know what to do; I thought I’d be standing there a lot longer, watching other women work their magic. Julia’s hand gave me a soft but aggressive shove from behind and I found myself all but jogging towards the guy who didn’t seem to be the man of my dreams. Third place. It was like I’d won a bronze medal in complacency.

  There was no trinket exchanged; he simply asked if I wanted to stay and I said, “Yes.” Then he gave me a kiss on the cheek and whispered, “You won’t regret it” in my ear.

  I smiled for the cameras, having no clue what he meant by that, and turned to walk back to my spot. I felt relief and nervousness at once, knowing that a whole lot of people watching television would wonder why the big girl got chosen so quickly. Ah, well. I was there to represent my kind, my ilk. To make the world aware of how attractive we could be, which meant that I should stop feeling apologetic for my size.

  As I stood and watched the others undergo the selection process, I saw a figure in the doorway by the camera crews: Tristan. He was leaning, his arms crossed, shirt unbuttoned at the top after a long day. My God, he looked sexy. I nearly walked over to him and then remembered that the cameras were still rolling. He saw me looking at him and smiled, but then he shook his head and jutted his chin out to indicate Craig, as though to say, “Pay attention to the alpha.” Right. Forgot about that, too.

  Diana and Julia were among the women chosen to remain. I wasn’t worried; Diana was so beautiful and Julia so feisty that I didn’t see them leaving anytime soon. But after tonight, I supposed, the real competition would begin.

  When the ceremony was over, there were a few blubbering women about. I did feel for them; I knew that it was the rejection that hurt and if there’s one thing I understood, it was rejection. But I chose to let Craig and the crew deal with them while I looked around, wondering about sleep and, more importantly, about the elusive producer.

  When the cameras finally stopped rolling for the night, Tristan came over to talk to me. He kept a distance between us, creating the impression of a casual conversation.

  “Do you know where to go?” he asked.

  “I’m sure someone will tell me. It’s not your job,” I said. “But thanks.”

  “No problem. I’m sorry that you’ll be sharing a room with someone. I mean, if you have to share a room, I’d rather it be…” He stopped himself then.

  “You’d rather it be…?”

  He looked immediately contrite, like a monk about to whip himself for committing a sin. “Nothing. I shouldn’t have said that. Do me a favour and forget about it, would you?”

  “I…sure. Okay.” I’d rather not, actually.

  “I should go make sure everything’s set for tomorrow,” he said. “Sleep well.” He put a hand up now as if he were going to touch my face, but he pulled it away, turned and walked off. I wondered if he’d ever touch me again.

  We were given a map of the house with our sleeping arrangements. It seemed that they’d only been written up after Craig had made his selections, since only the remaining twelve women were listed. I was to room with Julia, which made me almost happy. Yes, of course if I had to room with someone, I’d rather it be Tristan. But I had to put the thought out of my mind for now. Probably forever.

  Our bedroom was inoffensive and neutral. Like the downstairs it was basically personality-free with shades of beige and brown, rich reds and the odd piece of non-descript white porcelain posed tidily on a nightstand. The beds’ headboards were made of a quilted, shiny burgundy fabric that reminded me of things I’d seen on home decorating shows. Each room in the house, I realized, was set up so that a camera crew could make its way quickly through without too much risk of damage, so all the furniture was streamlined, sturdy and boring.

  On the plus side, I could see the faint outline of mountain peaks through the window under the night sky, sheltering the town of Wolf Rock from the rest of the world. We were isolated, protected. And yet the whole world would soon know where we were and what Craig was.

  Julia and I chatted that night about the day’s events, glad to have been assured that the cameras were off.

  “So what’s with you and our producer man?” she asked with a mischievous grin.

  “Nothing. I mean, I think we like each other. As friends. We get along. But there’s nothing going on.”

  “Doesn’t look like nothing to me. I’d say he’s smitten.”

  “Nah. He just feels sorry for me since I’m the odd one out.”

  “Mmm hmm.”

  I hurled a cushion at her then. They call them throw pillows for a reason.

  I woke up in the middle of the night, strange sounds rousing me from my not very deep sleep. Julia didn’t seem to be awake and I didn’t hear anyone moving around in the rest of the house. At first I thought I’d been dreaming, but the noise I’d heard started up again. It was almost like there were animals fighting in the yard, only these weren’t the neighbourhood cats I was used to hearing at home.

  I got out of bed dressed only in shorts and a t-shirt and made my way downstairs.

  When I reached the French doors at the back of the darkened house I looked out. What I saw was stunning; frightening and beautiful at once.

  Just beyond the sparkling swimming pool, two giant wolves were facing one another in an antagonistic and threatening pose. They were lit only by the moon and the twinkling lights scattered throughout the property, and their outlines were magnificent, a perfect, elegant symmetry to their postures. Their backs were arched in threat, each trying to loom larger than the other. Their giant teeth were bared in menacing snarls and as I watched in anticipation while their forms remained still. Each was sizing the other up, waiting for the moment to strike. I couldn’t tell under the yard’s lights, but one of them looked like Craig’s wolf form. The other was new to me but could have been any member of the crew, I supposed. Why would Craig be wrestling with another wolf, particularly when he was the alpha? Was he being threatened? Or was it simply a momentary dispute?

  Craig’s form was tall, lean and grey, and the other wolf was dark, almost black, with piercing blue eyes which stood out and glowed brightly in the dark of the night.

  I pulled the glass door open, my curiosity preventing common sense from kicking in, and both wolves immediately shot their heads towards me. Cursing myself silently, I froze. I’d never been around shifters before and had no idea if they’d be aggressive with me. I controlled my urge to mutter “nice doggies,” and instead remained perfectly still, wishing suddenly that I had a steak to offer them.

  The grey wolf was the first to shift, the transformation jarring. It was like watching a video played at high speed and in reverse. His lupine body seemed to rise up, lose its fur and become a fully erect man all at once. It was indeed Craig, who now stood unapologetically naked across from me. He didn’t seem to care much that I was there, other than a look of annoyance on his face. Nor did he appear to feel even remotely self-conscious, and it was all I could do to quell the curiosity which compelled me to stare between his legs at his generous member.

  The other wolf changed now, in the same fashion: pulling himself up, his back going convex, his fur disappearing. Suddenly Tristan was in front of me. His wolf and human forms were as tall as Craig’s, but his shoulders were broader, his body more muscular, more s
culpted. His abdomen was a defined six-pack of glistening muscles and his thighs were like a Michelangelo sculpture.

  He was beautiful.

  And he was also stark naked.

  Against my wishes my eyes strayed to the place between his legs where his penis, which was even more impressive than Craig’s, hung against his thigh. I only looked up at his face when he brought me out of my stunned stupor by stepping towards me. I thought, although it must have been my imagination, that I saw his cock twitch as though blood were rushing to it in response to a sensual stimulus. Had my jaw been allowed to go any more slack I would have drooled; I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anything in my life as I wanted him in that moment.

  Men are supposed to be the superficial visual ones, the ones who care so much about looks. But the gorgeous creature in front of me made every nerve in my body respond; my nipples went hard under my t-shirt. I have no doubt that both men could see them, though at least that could be blamed on the cold night air. What was happening between my legs was thankfully hidden from view: I felt a warm wetness and an ache between my legs as my pussy pleaded with me to seduce the dark-haired man with the perfect body and delectable cock. I willed my body to stop being so bossy. It kept telling me to take him, and I kept arguing that I couldn’t. Cruel body, cruel desire. Cruel fate.

  “Nikki,” said Tristan, breathing hard and seeming to calm himself after his change. “We were just…having a dispute.”

  Craig said, “As wolves sometimes do,” as he glared sideways at his packmate. “It seems that there are some producers who don’t know their place or who’s the star of the reality show.” His voice made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. This wasn’t the charming, slightly meat-headed man who’d been posing for the cameras. This was an angry, feral wolf of a man, the sort that my mother had warned me about. Had I not come along I have no idea what he might have done to Tristan, though given the producer’s size I wouldn’t be surprised if he’d been the victor in this match.