Alphabets & Omegas

Chapter One

Let me make one thing very clear – mornings and I do not mix. Forget the eternal battle between wolf-shifters and vampires. Dawn is my mortal enemy. I’m an old school shifter, preferring to run in my wolf form into the early hours of the morning under the watchful eye of the glowing moon. Being my own boss means I can catch up on sleep, basking in the warmth of my bed, while my crew opens up my classic car restoration garage. So, imagine my irritation when my phone rings, yanking me out of a steamy dream starring not one, not two, but three willing Omegas. Not cool, universe. Not cool at all.

I groan and flip over, squinting at the name flashing on the screen in the soft morning light.

What? I grunt, my face smushed into a damp drool spot on my pillow.

Casey, you gotta help me! It’s my brother Mike’s mate, Jenny.

I bolt up in bed, suddenly alert, with a protective growl grumbling at the back of my throat.

What’s wrong? Is it Oscar?

No. Well, kinda, she says, huffing. I can hear her rummaging through stuff in the background. I’m needed at work for an emergency, and there’s no time to walk Oscar to school. Mike’s already left. Would you be able to do it?

I scrub my hand through my messy black hair. At eighty years old, I’m officially considered middle-aged by shifter standards, and I don’t mind the gray streaks appearing around my temples. I think it gives me a distinguished look that the ladies love. Well, the Beta ladies at least. Omegas are rare, either too young, already mated, or not for the likes of a second-rate Alpha like me.

My brother Mike got lucky finding his Omega. Very lucky. We’re from a small pack in the foothills of Glacier Mountains, and Jenny was doing a welfare check on a local Omega as part of her job with the Omega Rights Foundation. I didn’t believe in scent matches until I saw the two of them meet.

Sure. I rub the sleep from the corner of my eyes, blinking blearily. Meet you at yours.

You’re a lifesaver, Casey. Jenny sighs in relief.

I want that on my gravestone, I joke.

I’d prefer to make the quick trip to Mike and Jenny’s place by paw, but without the cover of night, my big black wolf makes the humans extremely uncomfortable. Despite living in the city for the past six years, it’s still an adjustment living among humans.

So, instead of my fur, I tug on a white t-shirt, faded jeans with engine oil stains, a scarf knitted by the pack medicine woman infused with warming properties, and my trusty leather jacket. It’s six-thirty in the morning – a time of day I haven’t seen in years and don’t miss.

I yawn as I amble down the stairs from my loft apartment above the workshop, noting the muddy paw prints and puddles of melted snow drying on the metal stairs. It was snowing heavily last night, but my wolf was undeterred by the December weather. He loves the snow. After all, we grew up in a pack named after a glacier.

The sleek black bike helmet slips over my head, and I toss my leg over my bike. She’s my gorgeous pride and joy. Bessy is the only lady in my life I’m committed to.

When I pull into the neat driveway, I’m pleased to see the Christmas decorations I helped set up last weekend have held up well against the latest dumping of snow. One reindeer is a little lopsided, but it only endears the fake creature to me more.

Oscar and Jenny are already on the front porch step, waiting for me. Jenny has her knee bouncing, her mouth pinched tight.

Uncle Casey! Oscar calls out as he waves vigorously, and Jenny stops him from running out in front of the bike.

I grin in response, hooking my helmet on the handlebars and make my way over to them.

Mornin’ pup, I grunt, ruffling his dark hair. He takes after our side of the family with dark features, but his personality is all Jenny. Kind, endearingly mischievous, and a little scatterbrained.

Can we ride Bessy to school? Oscar asks, his face lit up with a big gap-toothed grin.

No, Jen says firmly, shooting me a warning glare. She stands and pulls Oscar to his feet. After making sure his shoes are tied, his wooly gloves are on, and all the buttons on his shirt are fastened correctly, she leads him carefully down the stairs. I won’t let you ride that thing until you’re at least eighteen – and I have twelve years to talk you out of it!

Oscar sighs in a perfect imitation of his father,