Her Alphas (3 page)

Alex sensed he was being watched and looked over his
shoulder.” Charlene was standing behind him, shaking her head. “Tsk. Tsk. Tsk.
I guess she should have been afraid of the big, bad wolf.”

* * * * *

The flight attendant had shaken Alex awake. Sweat had soaked
the through his shirt and his mouth was dry.

“Sir, you were having a nightmare,” she said.

“I need a drink,” Alex muttered.

“I’m sorry, sir, beverage service has ended. We’re starting
our approach to O’Hare and—”

Alex locked her in his stare. “Bring me a drink. Now.”

Her hands were shaking when she returned with two
airline-sized bottles of whiskey.

After they landed in Chicago, Alex hurried to the men’s
room, splashed cold water on his face, then changed into a fresh shirt from his
carryon. He made the connecting flight with plenty of time to spare and avoided
making eye contact with the crew or other passengers. He needed time to think
and regroup.

He spent the ninety-minute flight to Minneapolis playing the
dream over in his mind. No doubt the images of Gwen becoming a werewolf were
because of her constant nagging on the subject.

Charlene was in the dream because it was almost moon week
and his libido was overtaking his subconscious. For more than a year, his
assistant had provided him with a willing outlet for his needs. The whole thing
was smarmy but completely aboveboard. He’d needed someone to fuck on regular
basis—no strings attached—and she’d enthusiastically signed the contract the
network lawyer had drawn up for them. She liked sex. He needed sex. They saw
each other every day at work. It was damn near perfect—while it lasted.

After he’d met Gwen, he’d broken it off with Charlene. He’d
been afraid that she had grown attached and would cause trouble for him—and for
the show. In fact, she’d taken it all in stride. She’d already started seeing
their cameraman, and Alex knew that Paul could give her something he couldn’t—love
and commitment.

An unexpected perk of breaking their personal contract was
that Charlene had become an outstanding production assistant. She was now the
glue holding
The Dog Talker
program together. From sourcing stories to
schmoozing dog owners to keeping Alex on schedule, her skills were unmatched.
Alex regretted that she’d spent the first year on staff as little more than an
outlet for his out-of-control needs.

If Charlene had ever suspected that there was something
different about Alex, she didn’t let on. He was confident she’d never be able
to guess exactly how different he was—not in her worse nightmares. And now she was
starring in
his
nightmares—as the oversexed but highly-competent voice
of reason.

As for the other part of the dream—the part where Alex
killed a deer that morphed into Gwen—he could only guess at the meaning. As
soon as he got back to Talbot, he would consult Jeremiah Morgan, the pack’s
shaman. Alex wished Morgan would finally give in and get a cellphone. Of
course, with no electricity in that old cabin of his, he wouldn’t be able to
charge it anyway.

In the meantime, Alex tried to make sense of the omen. He
always worried about Gwen when he was in L.A. filming. Even though his people were
bound by pack law to protect her, werewolves were unpredictable. Knowing a law
and abiding by it could be two very different things.

For all the centuries-old rules and regulations the pack had
in place, Gwen was still the variable. She was headstrong and impulsive
and—despite all evidence to the contrary—she seemed to think she was invincible.

He’d first met her when she and that couch-potato dog of
hers were under attack by a cougar. Instead of rolling into a ball and covering
the back of her neck as she should have, Gwen had charged at the big cat,
waving her arms and screaming at it to get the fuck off her dog. Alex had
arrived on the scene seconds later and, as far as she was concerned, he’d saved
her.

Someday he’d have to explain to her that the cougar was
bound by the same law as his pack and, in fact, wasn’t a cat at all. But that was
a discussion for another day. Right now, he was focused on making sure she was
okay and easing his mind.

* * * * *

Alex guided the vintage Corvette onto the highway and tilted
his head to work the kinks from his neck. Once he’d pulled his car out of the
long-term parking ramp at the Minneapolis airport, Alex had voice-commanded the
wireless to dial Gwen’s number. He’d spent an obscene amount outfitting the
cherry ’72 Corvette with state-of-the-art electronics, but he had plenty of
money. It was patience he was short on.

After the first ring, he cleared his throat and concentrated
on keeping his tone light. After the fourth ring, he started tapping the
steering wheel. “C’mon, Gwen, pick up.”

When the ringtone shortened, indicating that he was about to
be rolled over to voicemail, Alex shook his head. “End call,” he instructed the
wireless system.

Shit!

Alex ran a hand through his hair. Why was he so agitated? Was
it the moon or something else? “Call Sergei,” he instructed.

The Russian picked up on the first ring. “Hello, Alex.”

Trying to disguise his rising panic, Alex replied with what
he hoped was nonchalance. “Hey, Markov. How’re you doin’? Have you seen Gwen?”

There was a long pause and Alex realized that his
predecessor could read his mood—even though the conversation was bouncing off
satellites positioned high above the earth.

“I have not seen her, friend. I am driving the road. I have just
left the livestock market in Seidel. Is everything well?”

Alex did a quick mental calculation. The town of Seidel was just
over an hour from Talbot. Markov was hundreds of miles closer to home than Alex
was. “Oh, yeah, everything’s fine. I just got in from L.A. and Gwen’s not
picking up. No big deal, but if you don’t mind checking on her when you get
back—”

“It is done, pack master.”

Sergei ended the call without saying goodbye. As soon as
Alex was clear of the metro area, he pressed the Stingray’s accelerator until
the pedal was to the floor. He listened to the whine of the engine as it revved
through the gears then glanced at the speedometer and watched the needle sweep
clockwise until it hovered at 160.

Gwen’s stomach knotted and she swallowed down the bile that
rose in her throat.

Fight or flight.

A storm of options raced through her mind as she stood
trembling on the forest path. The two dogs were in front of her at the edge of
the clearing, and one didn’t have to be an expert in animal behavior to read
their body language. Their ears were back, their heads were down and their
hackles were raised. The low, rumbling growls caused her hair to stand on end.
The message was clear. There was danger ahead.

“Bob, Jezebel, come,” she whispered.

The golden retriever and black lab didn’t move from their
post.

“C’mon guys, let’s go home. Who wants a cookie?” she hissed.

Neither animal moved.

Gwen wished she’d grabbed her grandfather’s rifle before
leaving the cabin. Not that she’d know how to use it, but she thought just
having it in her hand would have made her feel safer.

The memory of last year’s cougar attack washed over her. The
big cat had sprung out of nowhere, faced off with them and left Jezebel with a
gushing wound at the neck. Gwen had gotten away from the encounter with a
sprained ankle and a bruised ego, but Jez had required many stitches to close
the long, ragged claw marks.

If Alex hadn’t come along…

He’d arrived on the scene in the nick of time and fired a
rifle blast over the big cat’s head. Even if she couldn’t hit the broad side of
a barn, she could at least pull a trigger and make enough racket to scare off a
predator. Why hadn’t she brought the rifle with her?

Gwen patted the pockets of her jacket and jeans, hoping that
she’d find her cellphone there—and knowing that she wouldn’t. With sickening
clarity, she could picture where she’d left it—in the Jeep’s cup holder. Alex had
told her not to go anywhere without her cell. If she’d only listened, she could
have rung up any one of the pack members and they would have been at her side
in an instant.

Without a means to protect herself or call for help, Gwen
weighed her options. She could arm herself with a fallen branch, try to outrun
whatever was lurking ahead, or curl up in the fetal position and hope for the
best. None of those choices seemed to lean in her favor. Instead she muttered,
“Fuck it,” and crept up between the dogs.

“Shh,” she soothed as she reached down to stroke their
heads. “Damn the torpedoes, babies, let’s go see what’s what.”

Gwen stepped out from the shadows and into the sunshine that
bathed the clearing. It took her a moment to see what the dogs were upset about
and, when she did, she breathed out a sigh of relief. At the far edge of the
clearing, she spotted Jenny. The little blonde was kneeling in front of a brush
pile with her back to them and her head bowed. In spite of the chill in the
air, Jenny wore only a tank top and cutoff jeans shorts. The dirty soles of her
bare feet showed beneath her narrow ass.

Gwen ruffled the dog’s fur and strode out between them.
“Come on, you goofballs. It’s just Jenny,” she whispered. She’d reached the
center of the clearing and was about to call out Jenny’s name when something
stopped her. Call it instinct, intuition or just a gut reaction, but Gwen
realized in a sudden and sickening instant that something was very wrong.

She’d started inching backward toward the shelter of the
forest when Jenny turned and locked her in her stare. Jenny’s eyes were wild
and her face was smeared with blood. Gwen’s instinct was to flee, but she knew
she’d never be able to outrun a werewolf—even one that was still in human form.
With no other choice, she held her ground.

“Jenny, is everything okay?”

Gwen felt the nudge of the dogs’ bodies against her calves.
“Easy,” she whispered.

Jenny’s lips curled back to reveal long canine teeth on
either side of her incisors. Gwen forced herself to look away from the
wolf-woman’s face long enough to assess the scene. Tufts of gray fur and bloody
carcasses were scattered around the spot where Jenny kneeled and a pair of
squirming rabbits were pinned under one of her legs.

In the new werewolf’s hand was the remains of what Gwen
supposed had been the mother rabbit. Jenny snarled and snapped before seeming
to calm and gain control of herself. She glanced at the gory mess in her fist,
then opened her fingers and let it fall to the ground. Her expression turned
from feral to remorseful and she lifted her knee, letting the surviving bunnies
escape into the underbrush.

Jenny guiltily swiped the blood from her mouth and rubbed
her soiled hands over her shorts. “I’m sorry. I was just so hungry.”

Gwen’s mouth went dry. There was something in Jenny’s eyes
and in her voice that raised alarms.
She’s crazy!
Gwen hoped that the
pack’s newest werewolf didn’t have the same unique gifts that Alex had. If she possessed
a fraction of his ability to read minds, Gwen might as well have slit her own
throat right then and there.

There was no way of knowing what special powers the little
blonde possessed. The best course of action was to assume they were on a level
playing field—if not physically, then at least psychically.

Gwen forced an empathetic smile on her face. “Come with me
back to the cabin, Jenny. I’ve got steaks in the freezer.”

* * * * *

Bitch.

Jenny sat at the kitchen table and watched Gwen prepare the
meal. She’d washed the rabbit blood from her hands and face while the steaks were
defrosting in the microwave.

“How do you like it?” Gwen asked.

“Rare please,” Jenny replied, hoping that her voice didn’t
betray her hatred.

Actually, she preferred her meat still twitching, but that
bitch had interrupted her little picnic in the clearing. Sergei would be
furious if he found out she’d been out in the open like that with her back
exposed. And she knew she wasn’t supposed to hunt during the day, but she
couldn’t help herself.

Jenny had been so restless she had gone out for a run and
when she smelled the rabbit’s nest, something just snapped. God, they had tasted
so good and the way they squirmed as she ate them alive had turned her on.
She’d been in a frenzy and it was all she could do not to attack Gwen when
she’d snuck up on her.

Someday.

Jenny glared at Gwen’s back as she dropped the steaks into
the cast-iron skillet. It would be so easy to snap that cunt’s neck. She could
throw her body in the back of the truck, maybe grab her purse and some luggage
too, then dump everything somewhere far away where the others couldn’t pick up
the scent. Jenny could be back at the farm before Sergei got home from the
livestock auction. Everyone would just think their human consort had skipped
town because she couldn’t hack it.

Danger.
The word popped into Jenny’s mind out of
nowhere, interrupting her murder plot. It wasn’t a word so much as an idea—a feeling—and
it came from outside her own consciousness. Jenny could sense where the thought
had come from and she turned toward the fireplace.

Gwen and Alex’s dogs were lying on the carpet in front of
the hearth staring at her. Jenny shot them a look, but they didn’t flinch.
Apparently the telepathic connection was one way. She wondered why she had only
“heard” a single thought from them and how much of hers they understood.

The other pack members could easily communicate
telepathically with animals and each other, but Jenny wasn’t quite there yet.
Sergei promised it would happen eventually. He’d sounded nonchalant, but Jenny
could tell he was concerned. She knew it frustrated and confused him that he
couldn’t read her thoughts and silently communicate his.

Alex had said that some new werewolves took longer than
others to realize the full extent of their powers. He’d told her that her
physical development was way ahead of schedule and suggested perhaps that was
why her psychic abilities were lagging.

Speed was Jenny’s greatest asset. Sergei was nearly two feet
taller than she, but even with his long legs he couldn’t keep up with her at a
full-out sprint. She didn’t have the stamina to outrun him for any distance,
but that was improving every day. Soon they’d be the strongest couple in the
pack and, once her other gifts developed, they’d be the most powerful.

Technically Gwen and Alex weren’t the alpha
couple.
Alex was the leader, but his chosen mate was just a mortal. As pack consort,
Gwen had the highest possible status of any human, but she was still human.
Even Jenny outranked her.

The cave was the only place Gwen was above everyone else.
There she was untouchable. The elders had explained this to Jenny before the
night of her first change, but they needn’t have bothered. The instant they’d
crossed the threshold, the magic was palpable. It was as if Gwen had been
wrapped in an invisible cocoon. Jenny couldn’t have harmed her if she’d wanted
to.

Not that she’d wanted to at first. She’d been so afraid of
what was about to happen to her that she was grateful to be with her human
consort. Then Jenny’s mood had shifted with her body and she’d flung herself
against the cell bars, threatening to rip out Gwen’s throat if she got close
enough. Gwen had just smiled that annoying fucking smile of hers and waited
until Jenny had howled the rage out of her system. The next morning, after
she’d returned to human form, the anger had all drained away and Jenny had felt
an overwhelming love for Gwen. Sergei had told her that her feelings were
normal. It was just part of the magic of the change.

It didn’t take long for the magic to wear off. Most
fledglings only had to spend two or three cycles locked in the cell during the
nights of moon week. Jenny had to spend four. The alpha and the human consort
decided together when a new werewolf was ready. She’d tried to play nice with
Gwen and not snap or snarl or threaten to gut her, but the wolf overtook her
every time.

After the third month, Jenny had sobbed when Alex told her
she’d have to spend another seven nights in that fucking prison. He’d said he was
sorry, but it couldn’t be helped. Until she had gained some control, she posed
a danger to humans. She also risked being killed by the other pack members who,
when shifted, would instinctively view her behavior as weakness and attack.

Alex had some bullshit theory that Jenny’s outbursts had
something to do with her former drug use—probably the psychedelics. He said her
brain chemistry might have been altered, but part of becoming a werewolf was
that the body healed itself from all the abuse it had taken while human. The
process could take some time, but Alex assured her it would happen.

Jenny didn’t know if she believed dropping a little acid at
some concert two summers ago could be the cause of all her problems, but his
theory had given her an idea. A few weeks before her last stint in the cell,
she’d broken into his vet clinic and snagged a bottle of large-animal
tranquilizers from the medicine cabinet. To make it look like a burglary, she’d
also grabbed some other meds and pocketed the petty cash. By the time Alex got
back from L.A. and reopened the clinic, her scent had dissipated and no one
ever suspected who’d done it.

Every evening after she was hauled down to the cell, Jenny had
furtively popped a couple of the tranqs, then stuffed the pill bottle under the
cot mattress. Even though the dosage was meant for an animal five times her
size, the effects didn’t last long. But it was enough to take the edge off and
win her a free pass from the fledgling cave. It had been hard not to laugh when
Gwen commented on the “remarkable” change.

Stupid cow.

On the night before the next moon week, Jenny had been
initiated into the pack. She could still picture the pathetic look on Gwen’s
face when she got left behind. It was official wolf business, and Chaney wasn’t
a wolf. Jenny had pretended to feel sorry for her, but it was fucking awesome to
see Miss High and Mighty Human Consort knocked down a peg.

* * * * *

Two Months Earlier

On the evening of Jenny’s induction ceremony, she sat on the
wide windowsill and admired Sergei as he stood naked in front of the open closet
across the bedroom. She swept her gaze over his long lean legs, tight ass and
broad back.

When he turned slightly and reached into the back of the closet,
she got a clear view of the tattoo on his right upper arm. It was a triangle
with spiral in the middle—the mark of the werewolf. Everyone in the pack had
identical ink. The males wore theirs on the right arm and the females on the
left.

Jenny used to have a butterfly tattooed on the small of her
back, but it had disappeared by her second moon week, along with her
appendectomy scar. Her pierced ears had filled in too. Alex said all trauma
that had occurred to the body while in human form was healed once a person was
turned.

Jenny had been plenty stoned when she’d gotten the butterfly
at a hole-in-the-wall parlor in San Francisco, but it had still hurt like hell.
She wondered what kind of place did the pack’s ink.

Sergei turned and set a vinyl garment bag on the bed. He
caught her checking him out. He didn’t respond when she winked at him. Jenny was
just as nervous as he seemed to be—probably more—but still got turned on every
time she saw that huge cock.

He pulled down the bag’s zipper, drew out a floor-length,
black hooded robe, and slid one arm, then the other, into the long sleeves of
the open-front garment. A single large black button was positioned high on the
left shoulder and when he drew up the right panel, he was covered from neck to
ankles.

“Do I get one of those?” she asked, watching his big fingers
fumble with the closure.

“Soon,” he said.

“Well what am I supposed to wear? Is this a formal thing or
what?”

“It does not matter what you wear,” he muttered.

Sergei had been acting strangely for days. He’d seemed
anxious and edgy and had refused to tell her anything about the ceremony. His
secrecy and odd behavior were getting on her nerves. All she knew for certain was
that the pack shaman, Jeremiah Morgan, would officiate.