I Accidentally Saved A werewolf Alpha

Dominic

The air smelled heavily of blood and death.

I dragged in a breath, but it caught in my chest like the wheeze of a dying animal. My lungs had carried me through brutal battles, but tonight, my body offered zero assistance. Only pain.

My car had crashed less than ten minutes ago. I barely dragged myself through the wreckage before the fuel tank exploded, throwing me forward into the night. I stumbled away from the flames, only for another car to come out of nowhere and strike me directly.

I was being hunted.

The realization should have sharpened my instincts, but the poison already moving through my blood dulled them, dragging my thoughts through wet concrete. Whoever planned this murder attempt clearly lacked faith in a simple crash to finish the job. They poisoned me too, just to be thorough.

My wolf was locked away. I couldn't shift. I couldn't heal. I had been careless, and there was no one to blame but myself.

I stumbled deeper into the alley, scraping one hand against the brick wall. Warm blood ran down my ribs. I spat onto the asphalt, dark red staining the pavement.

If I could shift, I would be miles away. The plan was simple: get somewhere isolated, shift, force the poison out, and open a mind-link to my Beta and Zeta so they could pinpoint my location. Instead, I couldn't even sense my wolf. I tried again, reaching for our connection, but got nothing.

"Find him," voices carried through the rain. "He couldn't have gotten far."

My jaw tightened. They were waiting for me, sent to tidy up what the crash started.

A sharp hiss cut through the air. Something slammed into my shoulder. An arrow. Pain exploded through the joint. I tore it out, but my fingers caught the bitter chemical smell coating the tip. Another drug. Because the first three assassination attempts tonight clearly weren't enough.

"Fuck."

My fingers lost strength. Footsteps rushed toward me as a man rounded the corner, confident I was too weakened to fight.

He was wrong.

I caught him before he could strike, my fist connecting with his jaw hard enough to crack bone and send him face-first into the brick. Another man rushed me. Even drugged and bleeding, I was still a werewolf. Still an Alpha. Today was undeniably not a good day, but I refused to make it easy for them.

A blade flashed toward my stomach. I twisted, caught his wrist, and drove my elbow straight into his throat before following up with a fist to his face.

Another dart flew past my head. A second struck my side. My vision blurred instantly as I ripped it free. More men closed in, their boots splashing through the rain.

I fought anyway. I threw one man across the wet pavement, blocked a metal bar with my forearm, and drove my knee into the next attacker's stomach until he folded.

Then a blade sliced across my ribs. The burning sensation hit immediately. Coated metal. More poison. They knew exactly how difficult I was to kill and brought an entire apothecary of toxins to prove it.

I staggered, my breathing painfully shallow and my limbs feeling like they belonged to a stranger. Still, I took down another man before the rest stopped advancing. They backed away, knowing I was finally running out of steam.

I looked around and realized where my brilliant evasive maneuvers led me: a dead end. Brick walls on three sides, with the entrance blocked.

"He's going to be unconscious soon," a voice said with sickening confidence.

My fingers curled into weak fists. Alpha Dominic Daniels, brought down by a budget crew of mercenaries. The thought was deeply insulting.

Two more darts buried into my chest and thigh. My body finally threw in the towel, sliding down the brick wall onto the wet pavement. Darkness crept in like spilled ink.

Then a high-pitched, deafening screech shattered the night.

It was a shrill alarm, followed by a blaring siren that bounced off the brickwork like a heavy police unit closing in fast.

"What the fuck is that?"

"Did his pack track us that fast? We need to finish him now!"

"No way in hell am I standing here to fight a werewolf unit," one barked, panic cracking his voice.

One mercenary stepped forward. Before I could blink, he drove a blade straight into my side.

It didn't feel like a blade at first. It felt like a shattering ice pick driven between my ribs by a sledgehammer. The air rushed out of my lungs in a violent hiccup as the metal forced its way inside, dense and impossibly solid. A core of pure frost bloomed in my side, only to instantly ignite into liquid fire that radiated outward in agonizing, pulsing waves.

"Move!" the lead man ordered.

I couldn't die here. Not like this.

Then I smelled something.

It was soft, sweet, and warm, slipping beneath the overwhelming stench of blood, rain, and chemicals.

The scent grew stronger. I forced my eyes open, catching the silhouette of a figure at the mouth of the alley moving directly toward me.

Was this what dying felt like? This sudden sense of ease? Heaven? No, my path was carved in blood. My destination was hell.

Stay awake, Dominic.

The figure came closer, the scent wrapping around me. With the last scrap of strength I had left, my body lurched forward. I expected the cold pavement.

Instead, I collided with something soft and unbelievably warm. I nuzzled instinctively against the warmth, breathing in that impossible scent as everything went black.