Love Letters from an Alpha (3 page)

Chapter Two

Everybody knew that it was a bad idea to get in a car with a
stranger. Owen would have told himself not to be rash, but for some reason, he
didn't find it necessary. As he slid into Luther's black limo, he wasn't in the
least bit afraid. In fact, he felt safe, more than a little aroused, but secure
in the knowledge that Luther wouldn't actually do anything to harm him.

How did he know that? It was quite easy. His wariness had
vanished the more he listened to Luther's voice. He could easily imagine
Luther's smooth baritone saying the words that had been written down in the
letters Owen so treasured. And yes, he had noticed that Luther was a little
nervous, but that didn't scare him. If anything, it soothed Owen, and it gave
him the feeling that he could control the whirlwind of emotion threatening to
engulf him.

Of course, he was fooling himself, at least in part, but it
worked well enough in that it kept him coherent. "So, where are we
going?" he asked.

"To a restaurant I own," Luther replied. "It's
pretty private, so we'll have a lot of space to ourselves. But, Owen... I want
you to tell me if you feel uncomfortable at any time. I realize this is a lot
to take in, and my life isn't exactly easy to understand."

As the car started, Owen leaned against the leather seat and
fixed Luther with a curious glance. "How so?"

Luther didn't immediately reply, but Owen didn't prod. His
patience paid off when Luther finally spoke, "First of all, what I'd like
you to understand is that I've wanted to approach you for a while now. It's
been difficult for me to keep my distance—more than you can ever imagine—but I
thought it would be better for you, safer."

"Safer?" Owen repeated in confusion. Just what in
the world had he gotten himself into?

"You asked me how I know V. Well, she and I have been
friends for as long as I can remember. I'm what you call... the bastard son of
a very important man. His family didn't agree with my parents' relationship, so
one day, they tracked us down and killed my mother."

Owen gasped. He'd expected anything but that. "Oh my
God. That's awful." He and his mother had a difficult relationship, but he
couldn't imagine losing her completely, not like that.

"I was only a child. I won't... give you the gory
details, but the gist of it is that I escaped, and V found me. For better or
for worse, she's the one who raised me."

Owen was in shock. "Did the police catch them?" he
somehow managed to ask.

"I later managed to bring them to justice and took over
the family business." Luther's eyes were dark as he spoke, but Owen didn't
want to push further, not when this was so obviously a painful topic.
"I'll admit there's more to it than that, but I think I've given you
enough scary facts for our first date."

Luther reached for his hands and kissed them. "Just know
this. I won't ever, ever hurt you. I only want to protect you, and I will
always respect you."

"I know that." Making an abrupt decision, Owen
changed positions, sliding onto the backseat of the limo next to Luther.
"I would have never come to the meeting if I didn't believe in us."

Luther wrapped an arm around his shoulder and pulled him
close, burying his nose in Owen's hair. He didn't try to do anything more, even
if by rights, he could have. In all likelihood, Owen wouldn't have denied him.
But Luther just held on, and Owen let him, realizing all too well that the
emotional confession had affected Luther quite a lot.

At some level, Owen knew it would be far wiser to run in the
other direction. Luther had basically warned him outright. His life was
dangerous, so much so that it had led to his mother getting killed. If Owen had
any sense of self-preservation, he'd ask for the driver to stop the car and
he'd get out. He didn't. Maybe it was because Luther had taken the chance to
answer him honestly even if doing so involved such a risk, or maybe it was
Owen's desire to comfort the other man. Whatever the reason was, he stayed,
relaxing in Luther's embrace.

"I'll never let them hurt you," Luther whispered
fiercely in his ear. "I'll protect you—my beautiful rose."

Owen shivered as Luther's fingers trailed over his neck and
buried themselves in his hair. His eyes drifted closed and he waited for a
kiss—but it never came. Instead, Luther pulled away and gently caressed Owen's
cheek. "We're here."

Owen struggled to shake off his haze of desire and was only
moderately successful. "What? Where?"

Luther gave him an amused look. "The restaurant, of
course."

Right. Owen had completely forgotten. In all honesty, he was
half-tempted to tell Luther to skip the restaurant altogether, but he decided
against it. He liked the intimacy gradually being created through their
proximity and their conversation. Sexual tension sizzled between them, but if
Luther had wanted just a fuck, he could have gotten it in a million other
places—especially with his looks and his money.

This was important, for both of them, beyond their differences
and their social status. So Owen pushed past his slight discomfort and slid out
of the limo.

He didn't recognize the restaurant, but then, he'd never been
to fancy places, and neither did he particularly want to go. More often than
not, they catered to people who saw only superficial facades and didn't care
about the true depth of a person. Much like the roses, such persons and
locations were beautiful, but with no heart.

Of course, Owen soon learned that making such
all-encompassing judgments was unfair and liable to blow up in his face.
Inside, the establishment was indeed all glitz and glamor, but Owen was led to
a quiet VIP room that looked warm and cozy, decorated in masculine autumn
colors, but softened by the omnipresent red roses.

"I'm going to start feeling guilty because of all the
roses you're giving me," he teased.

"This is probably my cue to say something about a
sacrifice in the name of romance, but to be honest, I didn't think about it
all." Luther smiled. "They're here because you like them. I'm afraid
I'm not always profound."

They sat at the candlelit table that was already set out for
them. "To be perfectly honest, I don't think we have to be," Owen
replied. "This is our first date. I think we're allowed some time for pure
and simple honesty."

He set his elbows on the table and supported his chin on his
hands, peering closer to Luther's face. In the candlelight, the man looked even
more ruggedly handsome, and Owen wanted him in every possible way.
"Favorite color?"

Luther let out a small, startled laugh. "What? Are you
kidding?"

"Not at all. Answer the question."

Luther thought for a bit, and then shrugged. "I don't
think I have one. I'm partial to black, but it's not a color."

Owen scoffed. "You're just saying that because my hair
and my eyes are black. Are you trying to get into my pants, Mr..."

He trailed off when he realized he had no idea what was
Luther's last name, but his companion quickly fixed that. "It's Mr.
Valentino. And maybe I am. Is it working?"

"I think you're going to have to keep trying before you
find out."

"Fine by me. What about you? What's your favorite
color?"

"I'm actually partial to brown." Owen snickered.
"I know. Weird. I mean... Whoever heard of someone's favorite color being
brown? It's always blue, or red or purple—but never brown. Brown is
plain."

"Oh, I wouldn't say that. Brown is a good color. "
Luther's eyes glinted with interest and maybe joy. "I'd say brown is
understated. A lot of things are."

And somehow, Owen suspected they were dipping into profound
territory again. Or maybe it was just the way Luther was looking at him that
made him feel that way. "You know," he said a little breathlessly,
"I get the feeling I'm in some sort of movie right now."

"Like what?
The Godfather
?" Luther smirked
teasingly. "Anything except
Gone with the Wind
, please. I hated
that ending."

"I had something like
Pretty Woman
in mind, but
seriously, how can you hate
Gone with the Wind
?"

Somehow, his question led to a debate that went from the
not-quite-happy ending of the book-cum-movie, to Luther's appreciation over the
realistic depiction of that tumultuous era. "To be perfectly honest, V
made me watch it, but I would have much preferred a happier ending. There was
already too much pain and too much loss in the war."

Luther's words carried a weight that Owen didn't know what to
make of, almost like for him, the movie wasn't just that—fiction.
Instinctively, he reached for Luther's hand. "So does that mean you don't
believe in real happy endings?"

"I didn't, not for a long time, not until I met you. I
will admit it wasn't immediate. I had some help. Some friends of mine gave me
the courage I needed. Now, I believe there's always a chance, as long as we're
brave enough."

His dark gaze settled on Owen's face, the silent question as
clear as it would have been if uttered out loud.
"Are you brave
enough?"

It wasn't a challenge, more like a plea, and Owen had a clear
moment of revelation. He knew that the man in front of him had a lot of
secrets, more than all the characters in
The Godfather
,
Gone with the
Wind
and
Pretty Woman
combined. Even so, he also realized all to
well that he couldn't let go. He was already addicted to Luther's voice, to his
touch. He was already wondering if his caresses felt as good in real life as
they did in his dreams.

Once again, he almost asked Luther to skip the dinner
altogether and go on to the main event, but he was lost in thought for one
second too long. A waiter appeared by the table, ready to take their order.
Owen resigned himself to an evening of being helplessly aroused, and decided to
make the best of it.

He marveled at the quantity of food Luther ordered for
himself, and appreciated the fact that he allowed Owen to make his own choice.
Owen went with the mussels, and then picked a chocolate mousse for desert. Once
the waiter was gone, Owen went on the offensive. This was his chance, and he
would not waste it.

"Here's the thing. There's just something about you that
makes me want to trust you. But I can also tell you haven't been completely
honest with me, and I wonder just how much you know about me when I know so
little."

Luther winced. "I tried to respect your privacy. I
wasn't always successful. It's hard for me not to want to help you when it
would be easy to solve your problems."

"I take it that you know about my family then."

Luther nodded. "I apologize. I didn't mean to pry. It's
just..." He released a frustrated huff and rubbed his forehead. "I
can explain it, but I'm not sure you'll believe it."

The man had said that once before in the car, and Owen
couldn't allow it any longer. "Luther... Stop. You never know until you
try."

"Okay. I wanted to give you some time to get used to
this, and to me... But the truth is... My mother was human. That's why she was
killed. My father was a werewolf, and his pack didn't want him to have a human
mate."

Owen stared, dumbfounded. Okay, he'd half-joked when he'd
been talking about being in a movie, but this was taking the "truth is
stranger than fiction" thing a little too far.

Luther cursed at his lack of reaction. "And I could have
said all that in a far more tactful way."

"Right." Owen steadied himself and carefully
retracted his hand from the crazy man's reach. "I guess that means that...
I'm your mate. And you want to protect me? Because I'm human, and you're a
werewolf?"

"Yes," Luther replied. "I know it's a bit
much—"

"You're right, it is quite a lot." Owen pushed his
seat back and got up. "Maybe I'm just not brave enough to face this."

He looked away from Luther's face, knowing he needed to get
out of here before things got any worse. Despite that intellectual
understanding, he was having a very difficult time with it. A treacherous part
of him was relieved when, as he passed Luther, the other man grabbed his arm.
"Wait. Please don't go."

The relief lasted only for a second, until he looked at
Luther's hand and realized the man had somehow sprouted claws. "Holy
shit."

"This is real," Luther insisted, "and please
remember, I won't ever hurt you."

Owen would have believed that a little more if those claws
hadn't looked as sharp as they did. He poked Luther's hand, and Luther's
fingers twitched, almost as if in a subconscious gesture.

The claws didn't pierce Owen's flesh, but they definitely
made their presence known, and pointed out that no, Owen wasn't seeing things.
Luther wasn't crazy after all. He was a werewolf.

Owen would have loved to say that he reacted calmly to that
little revelation. Sadly, while he might have been a hopeless romantic at
heart, he wasn't so crazy about the supernatural. He met Luther's eyes—eyes
that seemed to glint in the light of the candles—and promptly fainted.

****

This was, plainly put, a disaster. Luther had not wanted to
burden his mate so quickly with all the baggage in his life. He definitely
hadn't wanted to tell Owen that he was a werewolf so quickly, and in that
idiotic way. But somehow, whenever he was with Owen, he really felt he could be
himself, and the barriers between them seemed ridiculously artificial. He felt
like the proverbial wolf who just had to huff and puff to tear those walls
down. Of course, things didn't work like that in real life, which was why
Luther ended up with his pale, unconscious mate in his arms, fanning his face
instead of wining and dining him.

The waiter who showed up with the wine list gasped and rushed
to his side, the menu clutched in his hands so hard his knuckles were white.
"Mr. Valentino? Is everything all right?"