I know I have bags of WIPā¦but Alpha!Kyle just wouldnāt leave me aloneā¦heās just so dreamy!
Alpha/beta/omega dynamics, soulmates / truemates dunno what youād call this, Kyleās gonna make you his sweet little omega because you triggered his rut in the mess hall. š
Alpha!Kyle who was never in a rush to settle down. Heās in the prime of his life, heading towards the peak of his career with all the focus and determination of a man made to lead.
Kyleās instincts are fierce, the unmatched ability to unpick threats, effortlessly solving problems with rational logic. He's reserved, sensitive to the demands and needs of others. A natural born alpha, the most recent in his family, whoās lifeās work has been to hone that ruthlessly wild streak that sometimes flares into life at the scent of prey.
Ruts come and go, thereās always a pretty omega or two happy to play host to him during those weeks, pleased to find themselves under Kyleās lean form and skilful lips. He sinks knuckle deep inside them while they whine, they wet his ferocious appetite during that vicious, pulsing cycle of need, then he leaves with a gracious grin and a peck on their cheek.
He never marks them, has no desire to breed. Why would he sacrifice his hard earned position, ignore the god given talent he possesses for strategy? An effective alpha hones his skills, develops them, always pushing to become a better version. All the greats in his field are unattached and unattainable, itās the job, a sacrifice you make to climb the ranks with grit.
Of course heās been begged for that sweet pain, asked to slot his teeth into their necks and begin a lifetime connection to another. But Kyle has mastered his self control, tempting as it can be in the red hot fury of a rut, heās never allowed himself to slide towards intimacy like that for even a fraction of a second.
His pheromones are deadly, sweet fragrant cinnamon and sunlit amber draws potential mates to him like moths to a flame. Itās a joke that Kyle has heard time and again. He smells good enough to devour. That warming heady scent he exudes turns most heads, vapid lust filling the eyes of omegas and betas in his vicinity.
But Kyle has never found another to captivate him. Stories of life-mates and soul bonds hold little meaning. Heās confident in the knowledge that, if the day comes when the finely tuned senses of his hindbrain kick in, heāll be able to resist it entirely. Almost cockily he assures himself heās dedicated, vision laser focused. No instinctual, baying emotional need could ever overwhelm that.
A regular Tuesday on base, the gym is stifling because the air conditioner is broken, so Kyle is almost dripping in his honeyed, intoxicating musk. Briefing is in ten minutes, no time to shower, his feet jogging an anxious pace against the tarmac while he checks his watch.
Thereās something different in the air though, a poignantly mournful atmosphere thatās equal parts cloying and addictive. Kyle can feel it, the oxygen in his lungs vibrating as each molecule fills him up and evaporates, leaving him wanting for more before the last morsel has vanished.
Five minutes to spare, whatās the harm in checking it out, the reason for this newfound stimulation. Kyle follows the clawing curiosity edging itās way through his brain, entering the mess hall under the pretext of grabbing a bite of toast, eyes darting into every corner while his mind swims.
As the wall of chatter hits him, a single solitary voice speaks out, loud enough to make him stop in his tracks. Calling him, reeling that primal function he has in, as if itās held on a tremulous wire. Delicate in nature but powerful all the same, a connection to a single point somewhere in the echoing canteen.
Then it hits him, a tender fragrance of jasmine, the smell of rain falling gently on a summer night. Unbearably soft, basking in wanton sweetness. It makes the hairs on his neck stand on end, every sinew alive with heat, a snarling desperation to drown himself in the source of that perfume.
He canāt see, canāt think. Itās only that voice in his mind, driving him to his one goal, a new purpose to possess and claim like a feral creature made of teeth and claws. The only ounce of wisdom he has left, shouts that Kyleās standing on the precipice of heaven and thereās no other option but to leap into the abyss.
When his eyes meet yours, he blinks frantically, throat tight and brow fevered. The nagging trigger of a rut blooming inside his chest. Never in his entire life has he experienced a blinding lust like it. It sparks a wildfire, out of control and all consuming, scorching through everything he believed he knew about himself.
āHi.ā
You smile. Oblivious to the situation unfolding in front of you, the man about ready to make you his for all to see and hear. Heād drag you back to his quarters now, if you werenāt sat with your friends, all of which are staring at him with obvious curiosity.
You sniff lightly, wondering why the scent around you is making your mouth water, and Kyleās world just about dissolves there and then.
Youāll be Garrickās in name and nature before the end of the week.
