The Alpha's Arrangement

Emily

Am I paranoid, or is someone watching me? I peek up through my lashes, scanning the grumpy faces at Fight Gate 23 for the person burning a hole through my head. I don't have to search long. My stalker has a deep set of brown eyes... and braces. The teenager startles beneath my gaze and drops his nose into a comic book. Totally harmless. I must be losing my mind. Then again, I'm trapped in airport purgatory, counting down the final minutes of a seven-hour delay, so maybe a little mind-losing is acceptable.

Delta Airlines is experiencing a pilot shortage, and half the flights in the terminal are delayed. The aggravation amongst travelers is palpable, and the whole hall smells like stale french fries, overroasted coffee, and cheap vanilla body spray. A throwback Taylor Swift song plays overhead, but the buzz of conversation and rolling suitcases largely drown out the lyrics.

Gwen, my research assistant, sits criss-cross applesauce in the seat beside me. She's accompanied me to California to track The Heritage, a secret society of hunters who target supernatural creatures—like me. Unfortunately, our intel about the hunters' headquarters didn't pan out, and the base we found was deserted.

If the organization moved, where did they go? And who is their next target? Last year, a hunter attempted to assassinate the Alpha of my werewolf pack. The mission failed, but that doesn't mean the hunters won't try again.

I throw a weary glance at the customer service desk, where two gate agents are whispering nervously to each other. "If they still can't find a pilot after all of this, I'm offering to fly the plane myself," I grumble.

Gwen snorts out a laugh. "I'm with you. I can't spend another night at the airport. Did you sleep at all?"

I shake my head. "I'll sleep on the plane."

She offers me a handful of the trail mix. "Why does Darren need you home so badly, anyway? I was looking forward to touring Universal Studios this week."

I politely wave the bag away. It's mostly M&M's, and I hate the taste of chocolate. "No idea. He just said it was urgent."

Darren Aklin is my Alpha. We have a complicated history, but our current relationship is strictly professional. He's fallen head over heels for a different supernatural creature—a siren named Aria. Their relationship breaks a lot of long-standing traditions, but I'm pretty sure Darren would break the arms of anyone to suggest as much.

As for me, there are no hard feelings. I'll admit that I'm green with envy over Darren's relationship, but not because of the stereotypical reason. I don't care that Aria got the boy. I'm jealous because their connection is healthy, whereas my list of situationships are anything but. My relationship models did me an injustice, and now, I'm putting in the work to rewire my brain by getting to know myself. I like brain teasers and mystery novels. I'm also flirting with recreational dance classes. When I was human, I trained in ballet for years but gave it up after being told I had the wrong body type to dance professionally. By my stepdad. At fucking sixteen.

Girls with big tits don't dance ballet, Em, but they'll sure help you climb your way up in the corporate world.

Creep.

I fish the FIJI water from my backpack and break the plastic seal around the top. "Actually, I'm surprised you don't know why I'm being summoned home. Doesn't Aria tell you everything?"

I fish the FIJI water from my backpack and break the plastic seal around the top. "Actually, I'm surprised you don't know why I'm being summoned home. Doesn't Aria tell you everything?"

Gwen is best friends with Darren's girl. Although, after working together all winter, Gwen and I are just as close.

She accidentally drops a pretzel, and it catches on her Nirvana tee. Aesthetically, Gwen gives off I'm with the band energy, always wearing graphic tees, distressed denim, and peek-a-boo fishnets. "Aria won't tell me. She said it's private." She retrieves the fallen pretzel and pops it into her mouth. "That's weird, right?"

I knit my brows together and take a sip of water. "Gosh, I hope I'm not getting kicked out of the house."

In the past, Darren has threatened to displace me due to bad behavior, but I've been the model werewolf recently.

No. Darren wouldn't ask me to cut my trip short just to evict me. There must be something else brewing. I just wish I knew what. On the phone, Darren's voice sounded nervous. And he's never nervous.

Gwen tilts her head thoughtfully, and a coil of hair falls into her eyes. "I doubt that. Darren probably wants to chat about our findings."

A quick laugh escapes my lips, more sarcasm than genuine humor. "What findings?"

The Heritage could be anywhere, and based on the size of their abandoned camp, the hunter population is much bigger than we thought.

Gwen shoves her snack into the zipper of her fringe purse. "It's only a setback. Let's regroup this week. Maybe we missed something."

My eyes flit to the information screen again. Flight AA191 to Halloway, North Carolina, boarding in 3 minutes. "Yeah, okay. What time do you want to meet up?"

"I'll be crashing at the pack mansion until my apartment is done with renovations, so I'll be free whenever.

I bite back a smile. The pack rule book has flown out the window. Gwen isn't supernatural, and humans are traditionally forbidden from the Aklin properties. In fact, humans shouldn't know about the existence of supernatural creatures at all, but Gwen has a pass. "Perfect."

"Oh, also, I need to run by my apartment's storage unit on the way home. It'd be nice to have more than a week's worth of underwear on hand."

I'm nodding when the gate agent finally announces boarding. Gwen and I are in first class, but it'll be a glorified business section on this flight. The announcer welcomes our group number, military members, and families with small children to the boarding line. We scan our tickets and enter the jet bridge, making our way to the plane with our carry-on bags, which, for me, is a Prada backpack.

Two flight attendants greet us as we cross the plane's threshold. Gwen says a sweet hello while I strut by with my eye on the prize. The sooner I can find my seat, the sooner I can nap. (Hopefully, for the entire flight)

My seat is on the last row of first class, but when I reach it, I find the chair is roped off with yellow caution tape. "Uhhh," I mutter, already turning back to wave down a flight attendant.

Gwen glances over my shoulder. "Kinda looks like a crime scene."

"Probably broken. I'm sure they'll move me."

"Want to see if we can still sit together?"

"Nah. I'll just sleep anyway."

Gwen takes her spot in first class, and I sidestep to relieve the traffic jam piling behind us. Fortunately, one of the flight attendants is en route. He shuffles to me, sliding by several irritated-looking passengers with luggage. "Is that your seat?" the man asks, pointing to the caution tape.

Obviously. "Yep."

"Unfortunately, your seat is out of order for this flight. I'll have to move you to a different part of the cabin. I'm sorry for the inconvenience."

I figured as much.

I adjust the backpack on my shoulder while the young man glances at an iPad, assumingly figuring out which other seats are available. Then, he gestures for me to follow him deeper into the plane. We pause at row 25, and he directs me to… a middle seat. I don't even bother holding in my sigh.

"Again, I'd like to apologize," the flight attendant remarks in a rehearsed tone, pushing a pair of rectangular glasses further up his nose.

"And offer me a free upgrade for my next flight?"

"Of course. Thank you so much for your understanding."

As if I have a choice.

I shimmy into the middle seat. "Sure thing."

I try to relax as passengers pile into the aircraft, putting their belongings in the overhead bends and settling into their spots. After a few minutes, a middle-aged woman sits on my right. She wears a pair of AirPods, and her eyes are locked into a game on her phone. It looks like Candy Crush.

Towards the end of boarding, a tailored gray suit catches in my peripheral vision. "You're in the wrong seat," a man's voice announces in a less-than-patient tone.

I turn. Then gawk.

The man's face card is lethal. Bright blue eyes. Designer stubble beard. I try to distinguish how old he is. Late twenties? Early thirties? My eyes shift to his coffee-colored hair. It's good hair. A stray piece even flops over his forehead like he's freakin' Superman.

"Oh! Is this your seat?" I ask with genuine surprise. "The flight attendant moved me here. I'm sure he put me in your spot by mistake."

I'd be happy to sit in your lap, though.

I straighten my shoulders, still pointedly looking him over. I'm not some shy little girl who needs to hide when attracted to someone. Usually, my interests are met in equal parts. At the very least, flattery. But the businessman isn't the least bit impressed. He calls the flight attendant over as if I'd never spoken. "Excuse me? Sir, I paid for two seats."

I raise a brow, double-checking the empty aisle. The flow of boarding passengers has stopped. It doesn't look like the businessman is traveling with anyone. Who is the second seat for?

The same flight attendant hurries to the rescue. "Hello, sir. Yes, I did see where you purchased two spots for yourself, but unfortunately, we'll have to refund you for the empty seat."

"Like hell you are. Fix this."

"I just thought… I mean," the attendant stutters, squirming under the businessman's stern expression. "It's a full flight, sir. If we don't use your extra seat, we'll have to kick someone off the plane."

My jaw drops. Is this man really so entitled that he's willing to force someone off the airplane so he can sit next to an empty seat? Judging by the consideration on the businessman's face, the answer leans towards yes.

What a piece of work. I'm not even that much of a bitch. If the man has a problem with the seating arrangement, he should be the one to leave.

I lean forward, careful not to bump the woman with the AirPods. She's still completely engrossed in her game. "My seat in first class is broken. If anyone is the loser here, it's me. Why don't you take your seat, and I promise not to bite during the flight. Cool?"

I play it off, but the man's obvious repulsion of me is bruising my ego. The interaction will go down as one of my more humbling experiences with a man. The businessman is acting like he's been sentenced to sit by someone who doesn't shower or wear deodorant. I might've had to spend the night at the airport, but I helped myself to the toiletries at the convenience store. Teeth? Brushed. Skincare? Done. Deodorant? Applied.

eet him with a daggering stare of my own. I'm not intimidated by some entitled prick, or any human for that matter. Well, except for one. But I quickly banish that person to the back of my mind.

The businessman sighs in defeat. "Fine."

My row stands, allowing the man to slide into his spot at the window. When I'm reseated, I automatically search for my seatbelt. I follow the strap, noticing the businessman is sitting on it. Because, of course, he is.

I give the base of the belt a tug. "Excuse me, sir."

The man snaps his head to me but says nothing. His expression fixes into a hard line.

What is this guy's problem? Judging by his expensive Burberry suit, I guess he's late for a fancy board meeting, but that doesn't give him the right to act like a total dick.

"Sorry to bother you, honey," I coo in a fake-innocent voice. "But you're on my seatbelt."

He blinks, studying me like he's trying to pick me apart, and I consider the very real possibility that I might be flying without a safety belt.

I'm about to resign and face forward when the man raises his hips, fishes the seatbelt from underneath him, and throws it to the side. Literally just throws it instead of handing it to me.

What the actual hell?

I retrieve the belt, immediately snapping the buckle into place and tightening the strap. Under my breath, I mumble, "If only you could pull the stick out of your ass next."

It's too loud for him to hear me—or so I think. The aircraft's engines are deafening in this part of the plane, but apparently, the guy is paying closer attention to me than he lets on. "I beg your fucking pardon?" he asks, raising his voice.

My eyes widen at the severity of his tone, and a tiny giggle escapes my lips. I can't help it. The man looks so insulted. I swear he's debating whether there's still time to throw me off the plane.

In near-perfect timing, a static voice booms over the intercom. "Doors are closed. Flight attendants, please prepare the cabin for departure."

I grin smugly—triumphantly. Everyone onboard is locked on the airplane until we land in North Carolina.

The businessman runs a hand over his face, tugging at the curl on his forehead. "Look, I'll level with you. I paid for the extra seat because the first class was booked out. All I want is one last moment of peace before my life flips upside down. Think you could give me that?"

The man doesn't have my sympathies yet, but he certainly has my curiosity. And I'm not the only one. Several passengers conspicuously glance over their seats. Even the flight attendant demonstrating how to inflate an emergency lifevest pauses to eavesdrop. "Flipped upside down, how?"

"I'm getting married."

There's a pregnant pause because, at first, I think he's kidding. When I realize he's serious, I laugh. Like a full-blown belly laugh until my side hurts. The reaction earns me a scowl. I swear the businessman tries to strangle me with his mind. When I recover, I ask, "Aren't people who are getting married supposed to be happy? Like deliriously?"

He doesn't answer me. Instead, the man clamps down on his jaw and faces the front. End of conversation.

I can't help but wonder about the circumstances of the man's impending marriage. Is he actually a big softy on the inside? Or is the guy a social climber marrying for money and status?

Like my mother.

I play with a spiral of hair, twisting it between my fingers. I, of all people, shouldn't judge. Until recently, I also felt relationships were more contractional than romantic. I think it took seeing Darren bending absolutely every fucking rule in existence to be with Aria for me to see things in a different light. No one has ever gone to such lengths for me, and I want to find someone who would.

The plane starts to taxi, and I mentally will myself to sit still for the next five hours. It's easier said than done. The middle seat doesn't give me a generous amount of personal space, and I find myself shifting uncomfortably to keep from touching the man beside me. I can't tell if I'm magnetically drawn to him or if he's simply taking up half my space. Probably the latter. There's a lot of him. Something I'm a little too aware of. He's at least 6'3 and not scrawny by any means. Even the tailor of his suit can't hide the muscular bulge of his bicep and thigh.

Our legs mistakenly brush, and I jerk away. We both attempt to lean on the armrest at the same time. Once. Twice. A third time. Each accidental contact is met with an immediate glare from the man. It's as if I'm torturing him somehow, even though I'm the one forced to endure the world's most uncomfortable sitting position.

I can't sleep. Even if I could find a good position to doze, I'm afraid I might fall onto the businessman's shoulder, and I can only imagine the overreaction he'd have if I did.

Is the businessman this rude to his soon-to-be wife? Maybe he's so sexy that she doesn't care. Either way, bless her. I hope the bride has the patience of a saint.