The Alpha’s Chosen Outcast

1. HEATHER

Chapter 1

HEATHER

I am so fucking happy that Jerry talked me into getting a dozen donuts instead of buying the two I wanted the other day. I’m walking to work just like I always do. Walking is how I get everywhere.

This body can afford to eat a couple of donuts for breakfast every day. Besides, it’s not like anyone is coming around to see what jiggles under my clothes anyway.

The walk to the bridal shop where I work only takes about fifteen minutes, but it’s still a good two miles at a decent pace. I’m used to running under the full moon for much greater distances than that. But it’s been a while.

As I lock the door to my little cottage—graciously rented to me by my boss—I try not to drop the donut I’m holding on the front door mat.

I’m running late, so it’s a donut-on-the-go kind of day. Juggling a mug of coffee, too, I have no choice but to cram the donut in my mouth.

Swallowing, I turn and take in the smell of autumn and the mountains mingling with my coffee. It’s a crisp October morning in the tiny mountain town I’ve lived in for the past five years.

I still can’t get the hang of how fresh the air is here compared to the oppressive city air where I came from.

The walk is over before I know it, and I unlock the shop to start the opening duties. Jessie gave me her trust with the shop far sooner than I ever imagined she would. I’d only been working here a couple of months when she first gave me the keys.

I was even more surprised at that than I was when she rented me the cottage. With utilities and internet included, it was only a couple hundred a month. I’m still as grateful today as I was five years ago for that.

I’ve always loved to sew and craft beautiful things with unique designs. For years, that manifested in upcycled thrift store items. I still do that, but I’ve since expanded my skills to fashioning wedding dresses.

The designs at Jessie’s are famous. She’s taught me so much, and I’ve even gotten to utilize those skills in my own projects.

There’s one really great thrift store in town, and they get stuff from all over the country, so it’s a pretty nice selection—just another pleasant surprise this little town had to offer.

Once I open up the store, I start in on the newest dress order for a bride in Chicago who contracted us a few months ago. It’s my design, but Jessie’s name will be on it, which I don’t mind at all.

I’m not looking for fame here or anywhere else. “Cauley Designs” will most likely never be a household name. I’m good with that, too.

Jessie and the senior seamstress, Gretta, come in right before lunch. Jessie walks around the dress form where the dress I’m working on is displayed. Her thumb and forefinger frame her chin as she scrutinizes my work.

“I’ve taught you well, Heather.”

She nods at the dress, nods at me, and walks away. Gretta looks over the dress, too, and puts a hand on my shoulder.

“Dear, you’ve come such a long way from when you first walked into this shop. Don’t let anyone try to take credit for that hard work.”

“Oh, I don’t mind, Gretta. Jessie’s done a lot for me, and she’s inspired me too. I’m fine with feeding her ego in exchange.” I wink.

“Well, you’re a better woman than me.”

“I doubt that.”

Gretta sits down slowly and starts sorting through patterns on the table. She’s been gluing them to cardstock and cataloging them for a couple of weeks now.

No one will say it, but her hands aren’t what they used to be. But she helped Jessie build this store from the ground up. If Gretta wants to sort patterns, that’s what she gets to do.

Jessie is already in her office. She hardly does any designing anymore, preferring to handle the marketing aspect of the business.

“Why don’t you go take your lunch now, Heather,” Gretta says. “I’m sure I saw Samantha out there waiting for you.”

“She’s here already?” I ask, turning back to Gretta. “You’re sure?”

“I’d know that cherry red hair anywhere!”

“Yep, that’s definitely Samantha.” I smile.

I gather my things and wave at Gretta as I head out to lunch with my friend, who works at the library across the street. It makes it really easy for us to gossip over pizza at lunch whenever we can.

“Any new bridezillas at the shop?”

“Samantha!” I say around a mouthful of pizza that will never be as good as they serve in my hometown.

“What?” She pretends to hold back a smile. “You’ve had a few doozies.”

She’s not wrong, but I’m not going to admit it.

“No, Samantha. We don’t have any new clients at all. I’m still working on the beading for that one bride in Chicago.”

“Oh, you have to take photos when that’s done. I can’t believe you sewed all those beads on in that intricate pattern by hand.”

I shrug. “I find it calming.”

She almost spits out her soda. “What kind of horrible shit happened in your life that you find that calming?”

I look down at my plate while I chew. I’ve never told her about my previous life, and I don’t intend to do so now.

“You always do that,” her voice turns accusatory.

“Do what?”

“Clam up when the conversation turns to anything that happened before you moved here. The rest of us talk about our lives. Why can’t you talk about yours?”

I finish chewing and swallow slowly, then look up at her.

“I’m sorry, ok? I’m just not ready to talk about what happened before I moved here—or why I moved here.”

“Okay. I won’t push it.” She reaches out her hand to cover mine. “I’m always here for you, though.”

“I know that.” I turn my hand over and squeeze hers. “Thanks.”

We finish eating and walk back to work, parting ways at the library so I can cross the street to the bridal shop. She calls out to me before she opens the library door.

“Savvy Seconds later with Callie and Logan?”

“Yeah,” I say, always eager to visit the thrift store. “Callie’s picking me up after my shift. Are we getting you, too?”

“No, I’m here till six, so I’ll have to meet up with you later.”

“Dinner at Eclipse tonight?”

“Heather, are you ever gonna learn to cook?”

I laugh. “I can cook.” Total lie, but I continue, “Cooking for one is sad. I always end up eating leftovers for days or throwing half of it out.”

“Valid. Okay, fine, I’ll go to Eclipse with you. Again. Because if you skipped a night they’d probably send out a search party.”

I scoff but don’t protest. She’s not wrong there, either.

Back at work, I continue sewing beads onto my Chicago bride’s dress in the intricate pattern I’d laid out on paper.

The time goes by quickly, and Jessie tells me to clock out after what feels like only a few minutes have passed. I can’t believe it’s already four.

Callie is outside in her ridiculous hot pink convertible that matches her Barbie blonde hair. I’ll never forgive her for having a supermodel body while capable of throwing down burgers faster than the rest of us.

She’s blessed with an inhuman metabolism. Which is hilarious, considering I’m the one who’s not human here.

In complete contrast to her looks, she blasts heavy metal music as we head to Savvy Seconds, the only thrift store in town, and meet up with Logan in the parking lot.

He’s shorter than Callie and with hair the exact opposite of hers, short and black. He won’t admit he’s in love with her, but I could smell it on him from the moment I met them.

“Do you remember when I literally ran into you guys here five years ago?”

“Yes, I do,” Logan chuckles. “You and I were both headed straight for the t-shirts—but it wasn’t like we were battling for the same size.”

“No,” I snort. “And I wanted to turn mine into a dress.”

Logan laughs, “Right, that wasn’t my plan in the slightest.”

“Then I started bitching about how I can never find the right sizes anywhere,” Callie chimes in.

“And I offered to help tailor them for you.” I smile at her, and she grins.

“Instant besties.”

Logan comes up behind us and puts an arm around either of us.

“And then I made a stupid joke about boobs, and you both rolled your eyes at me.”

We both roll our eyes at him, and we all laugh.

“What’s so funny?”

We jump as Samantha laughs at us, succeeding in startling us. It’s only five-thirty.

“I got off early.”

“Obviously,” Callie says with another laugh.

We stroll through the store, searching for new inventory. The owner always brings in from around the country, either through donations or online sales, to keep the selection fresh.

At Eclipse Eats, it’s the same as it always has been, and I feel good about that.

My daily routine helps me stay vigilant about whether anyone has found me. Although there haven’t been any signs in five years, I don’t ever want to let my guard down completely.

Callie gives me a ride home, and I settle in with an energy drink and the newest episode of some reality TV show I’ve been using as background noise.

It’s just me and my dressmaker’s dummy tonight, with a design that came to me when I saw this dress at the store earlier today.

As I circle around the dress and drape some fabric I brought from the store, the idea starts to take shape.

I begin pinning and then sit down to draw it out further so I have a detailed endgame to consult before I start cutting it up. I recall doing this with my mom and how she taught me to upcycle clothing.

I miss her so fucking much. I miss running with my pack, feeling connected, changing together under the moon, and letting go.

I haven’t been able to do that in five years. That’s a lot of moons. A lot of nights without my parents. I wonder what they think happened to me.

By the time I get to bed, it’s late, and I feel like I might regret that energy drink. I’m restless, and all I can think about is fur and moonlight. I haven’t had sex since I left, either. I don’t really have any interest in sex with humans.

That doesn’t stop me from getting a release when I need it—and right now, I need it. Just thinking about the change makes me feel all tingly and wet. There’s no way I can sleep like this.

The moonlight is streaming in across my bed from the open curtains, but no one can see me. Not that there’s anyone around to look into my windows.

I kick off the covers and then take off my oversized tee, letting the moonlight fall on my naked body. I reach into the bedside table and grab my massage oil and my vibrator.

This has become a full-on routine for me. As I rub the oil onto my fingers, I think about the change, about my body turning inside out to become something powerful.

I touch my pebbled nipples, already excited, and that tingle goes through my whole body.

My next breath is sharp, almost a shudder, and I move my hands along my breasts, making sure to come back to my nipples and roll them between my oiled fingers. I let my legs spread and reach for the vibrator.

I don’t insert it fully yet or turn it on. I keep moving my other hand and let the tip of it tease my opening. I stroke up through and press on the bundle of nerves at the apex of my lips.

My back arches a bit, and that’s when I know I’m ready. I turn on the vibrator to my favorite setting and thrust it into myself.

I pump it and let the stimulator rub my clit as I slow the movement, prolonging the moment before I come.

I watch the moonlight through the window and think about running again, and then turn up the vibration and go fast and hard with both hands. I don’t stop until I’ve orgasmed over and over, riding the vibration through each one.

When I’m fully spent, I wash the toy and put it back in its spot, then put on my tee and get back into bed. I raise my hand to that moonlight as I settle in—reaching for it and feeling its glow on my skin. Now I can sleep.