Curse of the Alpha: The Complete Bundle (2 page)

A
insley jumped out of bed
, silk pajamas clinging to the cold sweat that covered her. A shiver ran through her at the late-summer breeze drifting through the open bedroom window. The familiar trappings of Ainsley’s youth surrounded her.

Her parents had never taken down her boy band posters, or packed away the shelves of trophies. Just sitting there made her feel like she was in high school again, her parents asleep at the end of the hall. Like she could run to their room, snuggle herself between the two them and everything would be all right.

Of course that wasn’t the case.

Her parents were dead. That’s why she was here, reliving old nightmares in her childhood bedroom.

Ainsley was a very practical person, but this particular dream, one she’d been having for the last ten years, always left her feeling scared and lonely. And now she really was alone – in Tarker’s Hollow, and anywhere, if she was being honest.

She decided to head down to the kitchen for tea to soothe her throat. She slipped on a bathrobe and walked down the narrow hall of the creaky old Victorian.

Her hand instinctively reached for a cell phone in her robe pocket, but came up empty. In New York, she would have found an email from a client or another agent to keep her busy – no matter the hour. But her phone was plugged in downstairs, where she had sworn not to touch it, and she had handed her client list over to a young upstart agent in her firm for the duration of this trip.

Ainsley knew she needed to focus every waking moment on emptying this house so she could get back to New York. Back to her real life. Back to her clients.

And out of Tarker’s Hollow before the full moon.

Boiling water hit the peppermint teabag in her mug with a hiss. Ainsley brought the steaming brew to her face and inhaled.

It took her back to after school tea parties with her best friend, Grace Kwan-Cortez, in this very kitchen. Ainsley set her mug on the round oak table, where it rested on a ring stain put there by so many previous cups.

When Ainsley’s parents died in the accident, Grace’s parents had sent her a card. It read as though no time had passed since the day Ainsley left Tarker’s Hollow at age seventeen without looking back.

In the card, Mrs. Cortez told Ainsley that she loved her and that they would always think of her as their daughter and hoped she would think of them like her parents now. Mrs. Cortez also explained that they had set aside a bedroom for her. She could come home anytime to stay for as long as she wanted.

Come home.

The honesty had shattered Ainsley’s frozen heart and she’d immediately stuffed it in the bottom of her underwear drawer, unable to bring herself to throw it away.

The Cortez family home and her own had been the settings of so many happy girlhood memories. She could lose herself wallowing in the past if she wasn’t careful.

That’s why she was practically hiding out in the house.

If she didn’t bump into any of her old teachers or schoolmates, if she didn’t call Mrs. Cortez, then she couldn’t get sucked in. She could get in and get out – just like she planned.

That was sort of the name of Ainsley’s game. Since middle school she had been what people might describe as a Type A personality. She liked to ask questions and get things right on the first try. She and Grace had been two peas in a pod.

Until that night with Brian had ruined her life, and ended his.

S
he had spent
days in her room after Brian’s death. When she was finally able to leave her bed and take a shower without breaking down, her parents had told her it was time to have a talk about growing up.

She had thought it ludicrous under the circumstances, and pushed them off again and again, until they cornered her in her room two weeks later, as she packed for college. She’d gotten accepted early, and, like it or not, the summer session was about to start.

It turned out that Ainsley’s family had a very different version of “the talk.”

“Mom, Dad, you missed the boat. We already talked about the birds and the bees in health class.” Ainsley neatly rolled a skirt in plastic and placed it in the blue suitcase they’d bought for her.

“I was thinking more about the wolves,” her dad said.

Ainsley froze, thinking of growl she’d heard in the woods with Brian right before...

“Ainsley, we knew we needed to have this talk with you before you went away. But we hoped you could have a little more time to enjoy your childhood. Most wolf cubs don’t turn until they’re in their twenties,” her dad said. “And we weren’t even sure if…”

A look from Ainsley’s mom made him reconsider finishing his sentence.

Cubs?

Ainsley swallowed and smoothed her hair behind her ears, a nervous habit. She began rolling another skirt.

“I know you’re still hurting, honey,” her mom whispered and reached to touch Ainsley’s face.

Ainsley cringed. The hurt look in her mother’s eyes would be with her for a lifetime. Her mom withdrew her hand.

“No matter how you feel right now, it’s important for you to learn as much as you can about being a wolf. It is who you are. And you’re going to need to know what to do,” she said.

A wolf?

There it was. Ainsley had always known she was different. She just didn’t realize how different, until that day in the woods. The day she had transformed into some kind of monster and killed poor, innocent Brian Swinton.

Of course she didn’t actually remember that part; she had blacked out, mercifully. But Sheriff Warren said it looked like Brian had been mauled by a bear.

It didn’t take a rocket scientist.

The realization of what she’d done hit her like a kick in the chest.

“Not to mention that you’re very important to the pack,” her father added.

Her mother shot him that look again, like he’d said too much. Ainsley seized the opportunity.

“How am I important?”

“Ainsley, our family has been part of this pack for generations,” her mother explained. “Your grandfather led the pack as alpha, and now your father has that role.”

“A lot of changes are coming to this town, Ainsley,” Dad said, “and we will need strong leadership to survive.”

Ainsley stared at her father in wonder.

“Is that why everyone in town is so friendly to you?”

“I suspect it is has more to do with my effervescent charm, but being the alpha doesn’t hurt.”

Ainsley ignored his attempt at humor.

“Are they
all
werewolves?”

“Not all of them, but yes, a lot of the people here are wolves. We don’t use the term ‘werewolf’ – it’s a little offensive.”

Even monsters had to be politically correct, it seemed.

“And
you
are the leader of the pack?” she asked.

“That makes it sound like the old Shangri-La song, but yes, I am the alpha.”

Ainsley thought about it.

Her quiet father was always at the center of every party. Their friends came to him for advice. Underneath the old tweed blazers his body was strong and warm. He could still sweep her up and throw her over his shoulder as a teenager as easily as when she was a little girl. His vision was excellent in spite of the decades in front of a computer or with his nose buried in an old tome. And even the soft voice he used now vibrated with strength.

She had never really thought about it.

He was her father. He would always be big and strong and brave in her eyes, and she would always want to obey him and make him proud. There was nothing crude and animalistic in that.

Was there?

“I believe you, Dad. And I need to leave. I can’t be part of this. What happened was unforgivable.”

“It’s tragic what happened to Brian, honey,” her mother said. Ainsley could tell she wanted to say more.

“He’s not the last boy in Tarker’s Hollow, Ainsley,” her father said. “Another wolf would be the best choice. Until now I’ve held them back. Now that you know the truth, that can change.”

Ainsley had sudden insight into why the other boys had been so weird. Lately, she’d begun to actually feel the hungry stares she’d thought she’d been glimpsing for years, and hear the hearts pounding.

When she turned around they always cast down their eyes. She thought that was just how boys were – cowardly. Until the new boy had met her eye and gulped when she looked his way. Her heart turned to ice at the thought.

“The last, the absolute
last
thing on this earth that I want to date is another
wolf
. It’s bad enough that I can’t get out of this.” She paused. “Wait. Is there any way for me to get out of this?”

“No, Ainsley,” her father said. “No, there isn’t.”

“So no matter what, I’m going to turn into a gigantic wolf?”

“Yes.”

“Did I turn into a wolf because… because I was making out with Brian?”

“No,” her mother said. “Although that sort of…
activity
can draw your wolf to the surface. Your cycle as a wolf has to do with the cycle of the moon.”

“Do I have to turn?” Ainsley asked. “What if I don’t want to?”

Ainsley shot her a pleading look. Her mom had always been able to make things right. Ainsley wished more than anything that she could go back to being that little girl with the pigtails and the skinned knees, running to her mom for a bandage and a glass of homemade lemonade – to go back to a simpler time, before all this mess.

Her mother sighed.

“You can’t change who you are, Ainsley, and turning is part of who you are now.”

“There are stories,” her father said, slipping into the academic tone he used with his students. “Of wolves that were under duress and couldn’t turn. They say the pain was excruciating, both mentally and physically.”

“Michael.” Her mother shook her head at him.

“So it can be done!” Ainsley said, latching on to the possibility of a normal life.

“It may be technically possible to withhold from turning, Ainsley. But I would advise against it,” her father said. “The amount of self control it would take would be monumental. Your mind and body will be consumed with your new life at every moon cycle. You should engage with it, master it, and enjoy it. It is who you are. You can’t just run away.”

“Watch me,” Ainsley said firmly. The teeth of the zipper came together with a satisfying hiss and she swung the suitcase off the bed.

She was going away to college, she had a full scholarship to Columbia, and there was nothing they could do to stop her.

“You’re coming home two days before the full moon.” Her father’s tone made it clear that it wasn’t a request.

“Yes, Dad.”

Of course she didn’t. She hadn’t set foot in the house since. Until the car accident had claimed her parents’ lives and forced her back into town.

Her parents had hidden the truth from her just long enough to make her a murderer.

And now their degenerate lifestyle meant that Ainsley couldn’t just hire an army of ladies armed with boxes and stickers to empty the house. Instead, she had to put her life on hold and risk damaging her career to go through their belongings herself and annihilate any trace of what her parents had been.

A
insley realized
that her cup was empty and she was drifting again, losing herself in memories of a past she’d tried to forget.

She got up quickly, washed her mug, dried it and put it away. When she was satisfied that the kitchen was as tidy as when she’d come down, she headed back through the dining room and parlor to the stairs.

As soon as Ainsley found herself back between the sheets all her drowsiness was gone. She stared at the stick-on stars glowing on her ceiling, waiting for sleep to come.

At some point, she must have drifted off.

T
he next morning
, Ainsley woke early to finish sorting the pile of papers on the dining room table. She sat at the table sipping a mug of hot English Breakfast tea - she couldn’t bring herself to make coffee using the Keurig that perched on kitchen counter, those little pods seemed insulting, to her and to the coffee.

She set aside any invoices and receipts related to her mother’s hardware store. Those would be for the estate attorney to worry about. There didn’t seem to be any references to werewolves so far.

Ainsley knew that sooner or later there would be nothing else that needed sorting downstairs and she would have no choice but to tackle her father’s study. The prospect both excited and depressed her.

Michael Connor had a perfectly wonderful book collection. Its volumes included all the classics of Russian literature. From Tolstoy to Turgenev, he had them all – in most cases, he had multiple copies.

There were dog-eared paperbacks with copious notes in his careful handwriting – those had sentimental value and would find their way onto Ainsley’s own shelves.

There were also hard backed volumes in shining leather and in paper jackets – some in the original Russian, some translations. Some were gifts from her father’s students and colleagues. A few were even yard sale finds, which he bought and gave away if he found the translation acceptable.

And then there were the rare gems. A few of them she would recognize on sight, because she had been with him when he bought them. Each was worth thousands or even tens of thousands.

Michael Connor hadn’t believed in locking away rare books. They lived among the rest of the collection. Ainsley recalled the way he used to pull out a volume to pore over it, noting slight differences in the translation. She had even seen him caress their spines in passing with an unconscious tenderness, the way he had sometimes tousled her hair when she was little.

Unless he had made an inventory that she hadn’t found yet, Ainsley had no idea which books ought to go to the library sale and which should be sold at auction. Although she knew she ought to ship them all off to a book dealer, it felt wrong to send them away.

She wished that she had someone more versed in rare books to help her with the job.

Ainsley stretched her arms over her head. It was impossible to keep working. She needed a walk, and to open up a conversation with a local real estate agent.

She was going to have to leave the house.

Maybe she would even reward herself with a cup of coffee on the way. Tarker’s Hollow had avoided the Starbucks revolution, which was a shame. Ainsley imagined the jolt of a hot Pike’s Place with soy as it warmed her chest and belly and brought her to life. Surely there was still a place to get a half-decent cup in town somewhere.

She pulled off her t-shirt and yoga pants and slipped on a sheath dress and a pair of heels. She even remembered to grab a pair of big sunglasses, hoping to preserve her anonymity.