Alpha in Heat

of blowing his cover, Rutherford couldn’t show any more sympathy toward the young alpha on the operating table. An alpha that, had he been luckier somehow, would’ve been playing ball on a field with the rest of his schoolmates. It was a pity, too, because despite the scars littering his body, #301 was a fine specimen—good looks, and muscles that were developing well on those broad shoulders. Exactly what the black market thirsted for.

“Shall I increase his dosage to keep him still?” was what Rutherford managed to suggest.

Larson gave a brusque nod, making a deeper cut.

Six months couldn’t go by quickly enough. And that agent who would show up at some point, Nate—Rutherford hoped he would get them all out alive.

2

The Worst Interview Ever

(Present Time)

Jesse Sinclair straightened his tie. Breathe, he told himself.

He’d practiced with his therapist, Toni, close to a hundred times. He knew he’d ace this interview. At least, he’d better. There wasn’t another vacancy at any of the fire stations nearby. And he really, really wanted this job.

The problem? His lower-than-average psych scores. His scores were so low, in fact, it was a miracle they had called him up for an interview. Maybe they’ll look past that, Toni had said.

Yeah, well. There was still time for them to drop his resume in the discard pile.

He splashed his face with cool water, looking back in the bathroom mirror.

Droplets of water had darkened his starched shirt—some smaller spots, some larger. None that had soaked the fabric at his shoulder, though. That was most important. No one needed to see the silvery numbers on his skin.

301 was part of his past. He wasn’t that prisoner anymore.

He straightened his tie, assuming that the interview panel wouldn’t notice his wet shirt. No one ever did. People he met usually ogled his scars, until they grew uncomfortable and looked away. Who wouldn’t, though? No one else had scars covering their entire body. Jesse had a slew of uneven silver lines and red marks, from his fingertips to the back of his skull, from his shoulders down to his toes. They were scars from bullet wounds, incisions, whip lashes—who knew what else?

Then there was the biggest scar down his abdomen—ugly and silver, and it pulled whenever he did his crunches. Jesse wasn’t sure what Larson had done there, but he didn’t want to know. This was a new beginning. This was his new life.

He took a deep breath to calm his pattering heart, double-checked the landing outside his apartment, and stepped out, all the while listening for surreptitious footsteps, for whispered orders and men hidden behind corners. His heart pounded, and his senses strained.

Some days, it was a challenge just making it out of the building.

When he reached the parking lot, he made for the motorbikes—where no one could hide behind cars and grab him from behind. Then he pulled on his helmet, started the engine, and headed for the station.

The Meadowfall fire department was smaller than the training facility in Highton. It had three large doors leading into the garage, what looked to be an office upstairs, and more red trucks in the back.

Jesse pulled in behind the station, where it said Employee Parking Only. Then he parked his bike, stepped into the garage, and looked around for a firefighter.

One of the alphas in the station glanced up—an older man with an applewood scent. “Here for an interview?”

Jesse nodded, holding out his hand. “Jesse Sinclair. I was told to look for either Harris or Dom.”

The alpha shook his hand. “Gareth. And yeah, Harris is the A-Team captain; Dom’s the deputy. Wait here. I’ll get them.”

Jesse tucked his hands into his pockets, looking around the station. He saw Nate working on something on the far side of the garage. Some of his nerves calmed. Nate was the one who had brought him out of the Facility. Jesse had heard about Nate retiring as an agent to become a firefighter, and it was part of the reason why he’d applied for a job at this station—so he would have a friend here.

Gareth returned a minute later, with two older alphas Jesse assumed to be Harris and Dom.

“Harris,” the taller alpha said, flashing a quick smile. “Great to meet you.”

The team captain seemed friendly. More so than most people who met Jesse for the first time. There was a strange mix of two different alpha scents on him, along with a floral scent. Cautiously, Jesse shook his hand.

The other alpha didn’t offer a handshake, which set Jesse on edge. That wasn’t what he’d expected.

Dom—Jesse assumed—had gray streaking through his blond hair, and shrewd copper eyes. Eyes that raked over the scars on Jesse’s shaved head, down his face, to his neck and collarbones. As though he was already judging Jesse for them. Jesse couldn’t help bristling. I’m not who you think I am.

Except Dom’s gaze was sharp, heavy, like it missed nothing at all. Like it could see into Jesse and pin down his secrets.

Somehow, for reasons he couldn’t explain, something in Jesse’s body jerked under his attention.

What the hell? He’s an alpha. Sure, Jesse had gotten hard for omegas. But this... it wasn’t arousal. Couldn’t be. Maybe it was his instincts recognizing the strength in Dom’s solid shoulders. Maybe Jesse’s instincts were preparing him for a fight. By drawing his attention to the way Dom’s pecs stretched his shirt, the way Dom’s body tapered down to his hips, and the thick thighs behind his pants.

So why was a tiny part of his body telling him that no alpha should be this ridiculously handsome? Strong jaw, full lips, biceps that opened up his T-shirt sleeves.

Maybe Jesse was envious. Yeah, that had to be it. Imagine getting to be forty, with a stable job in a place you were respected. No one cracking a whip over your bare body, no one pushing scalpels into your skin. That had to be nice, huh?

Awkwardly, he held his hand out to Dom. “Jesse Sinclair.”

Dom met his eyes. Then he