The Alpha King's Two Faced Mate

"I’m going to ask you again—where is my son?"

Luthor’s voice was a low vibration that seemed to rattle the very foundation of the small cottage. He didn’t scream; he didn't have to. The sheer weight of his Alpha authority was enough to make the air in the kitchen feel like lead.

Sharon flinched, the question hitting her like a physical blow. She went deathly pale, making her large, dark eyes stand out like ink against snow. She stared at him, her gaze locked on his as if she were afraid that blinking would give him the opening he needed to tear her world apart.

Luthor watched her, a dark sense of satisfaction curling in his gut. At least the Omega still recognized who was in charge.

"I'm alone," she said. Her voice was trembling, but her jaw was set in a line of pure, unadulterated stubbornness. She glared at him, a fierce flush creeping up her neck and staining her cheeks. "Why don't you get the hell out of my house?"

"Is that any way to talk to your Alpha?" Luthor demanded.

He stepped closer, his large frame casting a long shadow over her. She wasn't his mate—not by law, anyway—but she was his pack. She was his. And if he had to take her respect by force, he would. The scent of her fear was intoxicating, but beneath it was that familiar, sweet Omega heat that had haunted his dreams for seven long years.

"Where is the child, Sharon?"

"I told you, he’s not here!" she snarled, taking a daring step toward him. Her small fists were clenched so tight her knuckles were white. The flush had spread down to her chest, and Luthor found himself wanting to press his lips against her collarbone just to taste the heat of her defiance.

Sharon swallowed hard, her voice dropping to a forced, softer tone. "He’s having a sleepover with one of his friends. A human friend. So don't even think you're going to roll up there and pull all this Alpha hooey on a house full of humans."

Luthor narrowed his eyes. She was lying. It was a clumsy, desperate lie, and it irritated him to his core. He could see how hard she was trying to play it cool, attempting to mask the scent of his own son with the smell of her own magic and panic.

It might have fooled a younger, less experienced Alpha, but Luthor had spent seven years obsessing over every scrap of memory he had of Sharon Spark. He noticed the minute way she shifted her weight, positioning herself directly in front of the hallway that led to the bedrooms. She was on her tiptoes, ready to spring, ready to fight for the boy.

A sick sense of pride swelled in his chest. The shy, awkward girl he had bedded and discarded was gone. In her place was a lioness.

But the pride didn't last. It was quickly charred by a fresh wave of fury. He thought about the past seven years—the humiliation of realizing she had run from him, the degradation of knowing his own blood was being raised in some nameless town without his guidance.

If he had rebuffed her after their night together, that was his prerogative as Alpha. It was completely unacceptable that she had retaliated by depriving him of his heir.

"Okay," Luthor said suddenly, moving back a step. "You win. I won't go near your friend's home."

Sharon froze, her eyes narrowing with deep suspicion. She crossed her arms over her chest, her full lips pursed into a thin, hard line. She didn't believe him for a second, and that was fine. He didn't particularly trust himself right now either. His wolf was snarling at the edge of his consciousness, urging him to grab her, to mark her, to drag them both back to the Tenzclaw lands where they belonged.

"You just happened to stop by to say hello?" she asked. Her voice was light, but it was the brittle lightness of someone standing on the edge of a breakdown.

"I was just making sure you were okay," Luthor lied, his blue eyes as cold as a winter sky. "And everything seems to be just fine."

Sharon nodded once—a jerky, uncertain movement. She took a step forward, her nostrils flaring as she tried to catch his scent. Luthor stood perfectly still, knowing she wouldn't detect a thing. He had spent the last few hours masking his trail, ensuring that the scent of the Tenzclaw and the scent of the boy he had watched through the window didn't cling to him. If Sharon couldn't smell him, she couldn't track him. And she certainly wouldn't know that he had already seen the boy’s sandy-blond hair and bright blue eyes.

The silence in the kitchen was stifling. Luthor looked at her—really looked at her—and realized that the woman before him was a stranger. Where was the sweet, tender girl who had almost wept with joy just because he had noticed her? Where was the Sharon who had looked at him with such pathetic, beautiful hope?

This woman was itching for a fight. She was lying to his face and shielding a secret that belonged to him by right of nature.

He had nearly lost hope of ever finding her. Year after year, the trail had gone cold, and his advisors had whispered that he should move on, that an Omega like Sharon wasn't worth the resources of the pack. But he couldn't let it go. When he finally discovered she was a mere four hours away, he felt like the world had finally righted itself.

He wasn't the same man she had left. He was older, harder, and far less patient. His self-absorption had cost him seven years of his son’s life, and he was not about to lose another day.

"I'll be seeing you, Sharon," Luthor said, his voice a low promise.

"Don't come back," she whispered.

"We both know that’s not going to happen."

He turned on his heel and walked out the front door, the damp night air hitting him like a cold towel. He didn't look back, even as he heard the heavy thud of the deadbolt sliding into place behind him.

He walked down the gravel drive, his mind spinning. He had prepared for Sharon to be angry. He had prepared for her to be frightened. But he hadn't expected her to have developed a backbone of steel. He hadn't expected the way his own blood would react to seeing her again—a violent, possessive roar that demanded he claim her right there on the kitchen floor.

He reached his black SUV parked a quarter-mile down the road, hidden under the canopy of the pines. His Beta, Gabe, was waiting in the driver's seat.

"Did you see the boy?" Gabe asked as Luthor climbed in.

"I saw him," Luthor said, his hands gripping the dashboard until the leather groaned. "He’s mine. There’s no doubt about it."

"And the mother? Is she coming willingly?"

Luthor let out a short, harsh laugh. "Sharon Spark wouldn't do a single thing willingly if it involved me. She’s turned into a fighter, Gabe. She tried to tell me he was at a sleepover while he was sleeping twenty feet away."

"So, what’s the move? We take them tonight?"

Luthor looked out the window at the dark silhouette of the trees. He could still taste her scent on the back of his throat—sweet, floral, and laced with the sharp tang of her magic. He thought about the boy, Alexander, and the way Sharon had shielded him. If he took them by force now, the boy’s first memory of his father would be one of violence and terror.

He was an Alpha, but he wasn't a fool. He wanted his son’s loyalty, and he wanted Sharon’s submission. Neither would come from a kidnapping.

"No," Luthor said, his eyes glowing gold in the dark interior of the car. "We wait. I want her to realize that there is no corner of this earth where she can hide from me. I want her to understand that her 'independence' is an illusion."

"And if she runs again?"

Luthor smiled, a dark, predatory curve of his lips. "She won't get far. I’ve put a perimeter around the town. Every road, every trail. She’s in my territory now. She just doesn't know it yet."

Back in the cottage, Sharon was slumped against the door, her breath coming in jagged hitches. She could still feel the phantom heat of Luthor’s presence in the room. It was like he had left a permanent stain on the air.

She walked down the hall and opened Alexander’s door. He was still fast asleep, his chest rising and falling in the deep, easy rhythm of childhood. She sat on the edge of his bed and watched him, her hand trembling as she brushed a lock of hair from his forehead.

"I'm sorry, Xander," she whispered. "I'm so sorry."

She knew Luthor hadn't believed her. She knew the "okay, you win" was a lie. He was a predator, and he was just playing with his prey before the kill. She had spent seven years running, seven years pretending that she was more than just an Omega and he was more than just an Alpha.

But as she looked at her son’s face—the face of the man who had just left her kitchen—she realized the truth. The bond was never broken. It was just stretched thin, and now Luthor Michaels was reeling it in.

She stood up, her eyes flashing with a sudden, desperate resolve. She couldn't stay here. The perimeter he’d mentioned—she didn't know about it yet, but she could feel the invisible walls closing in. She went to the closet and pulled out a duffel bag, her movements frantic.

She had magic now. She had strength. She wasn't the shy girl from the Tenzclaw anymore.

"I won't let you take him," she hissed into the dark.

But as she packed her few belongings, she could still hear Luthor’s voice in her head, deep and certain.

Is that any way to talk to your Alpha?

The war had begun, and Sharon Spark was starting it with a bag of clothes and a heart full of terror.