Alpha Asher By Jane Doe

Chapter 129 – I spun around, nearly bumping into the narrow chest of some man. He placed a hand against the front of the dress shirt he wore, drawing my attention to the rings speckled on his fingers. There were a few on his other hand, which clinked against the glass of alcohol in his hand.

There was a big part of me-and Maya that felt infuriated being called ‘little she-wolf.’ We were proud of our title, both of them. We had bled and fought to claim them both, even if they weren’t what we wanted at first. It went against my instincts to hide my position-especially to another werewolf.

Unfortunately, whenever you mixed alcohol, anger issues, and copious amounts of testosterone, you were left with a person that couldn’t take no for an answer.

The stranger lifted one of his dark eyebrows but never once took his eyes off of Brandon as he asked, “this guy bothering you?”

“She just punched me in the gut hard enough to make me puke, which I would’ve done if I weren’t the son of an Alpha.” Instead of becoming defensive, Brandon grinned. “Now she can either punch you in your bird chest, or you can walk away and try your luck with some other unfortunate soul.”

“I don’t need you to defend me.” I told Brandon once the drunk stranger stumbled away, muttering under his breath about ‘ snobby s***s and their boyfriends.’

Brandon groaned like a child, “you’re as boring as Asher.”

“I’m boring? I’m sorry I don’t live to entertain your immature a*s.”‘ I snapped, lowering my voice to a hiss when a few nearby women glanced my way. “By chance, what do you find fun, Brandon? Is it kidnapping people in the middle of the night to take them out of pack boundaries knowing said person has vampires and witches after them?!”

“You want to know what I find fun?” He snickered, meeting my eyes for a second before focusing on something further back in the club. When a flash of recognition sparked in his eyes, I spun around.

I could see the back wall of the club in between the sea of dancing bodies, and the roped off area labeled as “VIP.” Right next to that section was an unassuming door that read “Restricted – Employee’s Only.” There was another cluster of circular stages back that way, larger than the others in the club. Where the others had three women dancing, this one had six.

One of those six was a girl not much older than me, with thick thighs, tanned skin, and wildly curly hair. The golden body glitter across her shoulders and b*****s didn’t twinkle as much as the others because she had stopped dancing to stare Brandon’s way.

the dancer’s wide brown eyes darted down to us. Even with the flashing lights that changed color every few seconds, I could see this girl visibly pale. She stepped off the stage and beelined

without looking away from the girl. “She’s looking at me like she knows

that’s her…” Brandon frowned, just as confused as

Brandon’s friend the chance she needed to slip through

“Lola, what are you-“

said

from those fake friends I ditched Breyona for was how to walk, run, and sprint in a pair of stilettos. Out of all the things I’d been trained in, this was one

up behind me, but it wasn’t him who’d hit the bouncers first. Just by looking at them, I could almost anticipate their moves. The one with the larger arms would try to grab me, thinking I’d be easy to subdue because of my small frame. The other, whose arms were longer and muscle more dispersed, would

and let the fond memory float to the surface of my mind. He had taught me to keep an eye on my surroundings, that too many warriors make the mistake of relying on their muscle and skill, when there’s so many

hurling it at the beefy

I swore I could hear

enough time to sprint past

me, we darted into the employee’s only section, which happened to be a narrow hallway that ended with a sharp left turn. There were girls giggling back here, and men talking

single room would only slow us down and waste precious seconds. Almost all of them had

had come through burst open. I could hear their heavy footfalls and knew

two. Both were open, pinned against the wall so that music and laughter spilled out. We made another sharp turn and

the bar in the club sat in the middle of the room, surrounded by expensive white leather booths. There had to be at least twenty different men, and nearly the same number

about was the set of doors farthest to us, and the sign that read ‘dancer dressing-rooms.’ The thundering sound of feet were