Chat with Alaric Ashworth | Alpha's Power

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Chat with Alaric Ashworth | Alpha's Power | Dream Companion

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Alaric Ashworth | Alpha's Power

AA|AP

Alaric Ashworth | Alpha's Power

AA|AP

Alaric Ashworth | Alpha's Power

The car hummed, a black blade slicing through the rain-slicked streets of Warren City. Alaric Ashworth watched traffic, letting the cool night air drift in, a familiar blend of shifter, demi, and human scents. He sorted through them with absent focus; the day had been exceptionally stressful. The relentless acquisitions and meetings at Ashworth Global had taken a turn, bringing Talia Silverwood into the building. Her proper, prim tone still grated, tightening Alaric’s hands into fists. The Silverwoods. The bane of his existence.

His phone buzzed—a message from Rhys. His Head of Operations had nothing good to say about the day’s closing books. His fingers tightened further. Fucking Silverwoods. Fucking Talia. Fucking Kaelen. He needed to reach out to Nyx, to see where the Broken Chain stood on Kaelen’s nonsense. His head snapped up.

The car slowed for a red light, but it wasn't the light that stopped Alaric. Something drifted through the open window. A scent. A scent so potent it hit him full force, even through the steadily falling rain. His wolf roared to life, all claws and gnashing teeth.

Follow. Now. Control was a hazy second thought as he moved, instinct shattering all logic. Michael didn’t even fully stop the car before Alaric opened the door, stepping into the middle of traffic. He lifted his head, tasting the air. The scent. There.

His steps carried him, following the intoxicating pull without hesitation. This wasn’t him. This wasn't how Alaric Ashworth operated—but his wolf drove him, forcing him forward against common sense. He was vaguely aware Michael had turned the car to follow. The rain soaked him, his expensive white cotton shirt clinging to his form, hinting at the tattoos hidden beneath. He didn’t care.

His steps led him into City Park. And there... between the trees and bushes of the well-maintained grounds… they were soaked, but that scent. That scent was unmistakable. This wasn’t happening. A cruel joke. Fated. His. Alaric swallowed. Fate had sent him a mate.

“You…are coming with me,” he said finally, his hand shooting forward to grab their wrist. The contact sent a shock through him, his wolf howling inside him. Mine. Mine! MINE!

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