Her Alphas (6 page)

“Just tell me what you saw, Longtree. What the hell
possessed you to nearly knock the block off of a fat golden retriever?”

“Okay, so the night after Markov told me about your new
human consort, the old one—John Chaney—came to me in my sleep. God, I liked
that old guy. He was very chill and the dude had a killer wine collection.”

Alex huffed out an exasperated breath. “Focus.”

“All right. So in the dream I’m out in the woods, feasting
on some sweet rabbit meat and Old Man Chaney comes limping out of the trees. He
looks fine except his leg is torn to shit like he’s been in a dog fight…oh,
fuck, no disrespect intended, dude.”

“None taken. Go on.”

“Right, so John comes up to me and he goes, ‘The line has
been compromised. The progeny is in danger. Beware the yellow dog.’ Then he
turns around and heads back into the forest, except it isn’t him anymore; it’s
a fucking snake—a rattler I think.”

Alex kept his eyes on the road but inclined his head to the
right, waiting for Tommy to go on. When the Cat King didn’t elaborate, Alex
said, “That’s it?
That’s
why you shifted, went charging through the
forest and took a hellacious swipe at some powder-puff golden retriever?”

“Like I said man, my bad. Dream omens aren’t like telepathy.
They’re symbols, not literal signs. And they aren’t time-sensitive. The dream
could have been referring to something in the past, the present, or even the
future. It’s an art, dude, not a science.”

“Fuck,” Alex muttered. “So what you’re telling me is that
you have no real idea what dreams mean, and if they mean anything at all, you
can’t pinpoint when shit is—or isn’t—going to happen? Real fuckin’ helpful,
Tommy.”

“Aw c’mon, McKenzie, don’t be like that. Here, let me
scratch your tummy.”

Alex glanced at the stringer of fish leaving a smelly puddle
of slime on the floor of his cherry Corvette. “Fuck you, Longtree.”

Tommy chuckled, then laid a big hand on Alex’s shoulder.
“Seriously, Doc, tell me what you saw.”

As nervous as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking
chairs.

That had been one of John Chaney’s favorite sayings, but
until recently, Gwen hadn’t really gotten its meaning.

She rarely drank coffee after noon, but the morning’s events
just seemed to call for it. She sat at the kitchen table, sipping at her mug
and watching the seven-foot-tall Russian werewolf pace around the cabin. He
paused at the bedroom door, peeked in at the sleeping Jenny, then resumed his
rounds.

“Sergei, for chrissakes, would you
please
sit down?
You’re freaking me out,” Gwen said.

Sergei Markov stopped and smiled at Gwen. His expression
seemed forced and his smile looked more like a snarl. “There is no reason for
the freaking out, little friend. I am only occupied with my own thoughts.
Nothing for your worries about.”

“Mmmhmm,” Gwen said, then crossed her arms under her
breasts, sat back in her chair and squinted at him. “Spill it, big guy.”

He spread out his arms, palms up and shrugged. “What? I do
not have the idea what you’re steering about.”

“I think you mean, what I’m ‘driving at’,” Gwen offered.

Sergei winked and pointed at her. “Ah, yes, ‘driving at’.
You are so smart. I knew from the first time I laid down eyes on you that you were
the one for the wisdom.”

Gwen raised an eyebrow. “Enough of the smoke and mirrors,
Markov. What’s going on?”

“Smoke and mirrors?” Sergei muttered. “I do not know this
thing, ‘Smoke and—’”

“SIT DOWN, Sergei!” Gwen demanded.

He made one more pass by the front door, drew back the
gingham curtain to peer out, then flopped down on the chair opposite her. “Cribbage?”
he offered.

Gwen rolled her head from side to side, trying to work out
the gathering kinks in her muscles, then slapped her palms against the
tabletop. “No, Sergei, I do not want to play cribbage or chess or
twenty-fucking-questions. I want you to quit skulking around here—and DO NOT
ask me what ‘skulking’ means. Look it up in your English-to-Russian
dictionary—and tell me what’s got you and Alex so wound up.”

Sergei surprised her by reaching across the table and
scooping up her hand in both of his. Gwen thought she would never get used to
the ridiculously feverish body temperature of werewolves.

“Dear Gwen, I know there are parts of our world that you do
not understand, but—believe it or not—there are parts
we
don’t
understand. As a human you see thoughts and feelings like air that you cannot
hold. To us, they are things—
real things
—like the chair that you sit in.
And yet they are mysteries.”

He nodded his dark, shaggy head as if he’d just explained
the secret of the cosmos.

“Go on,” Gwen urged.

Sergei shrugged. “Your mate had a nightmare and he is
concerned for your safety. And so I am here to watch over you until he
returns.”

Gwen raised her eyebrows and nodded. “Oh right—a nightmare.
Of course.”

Fucking werewolves.

* * * * *

If an alarm went off, Gwen missed it, but in an instant,
Sergei had sprung to his feet—sending his chair clattering across the worn wood
planks of the kitchen floor—and Jezebel and Bob had bolted to the cabin door.

“Alex has arrived!” Sergei announced.

No shit?

Gwen reached into the front of her shirt and nudged her
breasts toward center—enhancing her cleavage—then pushed back her chair and
stood. The three weeks every month that Alex spent in L.A. filming
The Dog
Talker
always left her restless and she couldn’t wait to get Mr. Big TV
Star back into her bed.

The anticipation of being in his arms again trumped everything,
and the stuff that had transpired that day quickly receded into the background.
Gwen was already cooking up ways to convince Sergei to gather up his psycho
little mate and call it a night when he jerked open the front door to welcome
his alpha.

A ball of electric energy gathered at the base of Gwen’s
spine and her lips tingled as she leaned fetchingly—she hoped—against the
table. She concentrated on jutting out her chest and making her mouth look
irresistible.

Alex breezed into the cabin with the purposeful air of an
alpha wolf. He gave Sergei a slight nod of acknowledgement then grabbed Gwen
and pulled her into an unabashed kiss. She giggled when he buried his mouth
against her neck and growled. Alex had worked his way almost to her earlobe
when Gwen opened her eyes and looked over his shoulder.

Standing in the doorway, a stringer of fish in his hand, was
one of the most beautiful men—hell one of the most beautiful people—Gwen had
ever laid eyes on. Glossy, jet-black hair framed brown skin. Big, dark almond-shaped
eyes sparkled. High cheekbones begged to be touched. And those full lips!

Then he smiled and Gwen was sunk. The shiver that passed
through her was not from her lover’s touch.

Alex must have felt too because he pulled back from Gwen then
turned to follow her open-mouthed stare.

Before proper introductions could be made, Jezebel started
snapping and snarling at their handsome visitor. Gwen gasped when the dog
lunged. Sergei’s hand shot out and caught the golden retriever’s collar just
before she made contact.

Sergei knelt down and locked Jezebel in his stare. The dog
whined, then trotted across the room and flopped down on the rug in front of
the fireplace. She didn’t move from the spot, but Gwen could hear the low,
rumbling growl coming from her chest.

Sergei stood, brushed off his jeans and nodded to the
visitor. “Hello, kitten.”

Throughout the commotion, the man in the doorway had
continued to smile at Gwen but turned and nodded at Sergei’s greeting, then
passed him the stringer of fish. “What’s up, big dog?”

He strode toward Gwen, arm extended. “Good to see you again,
Miss Chaney.”

Again?
If she’d ever met this guy, she would have
remembered. She accepted his handshake and cocked her head to one side. “I’m
sorry. I don’t remember—”

“I’m Tommy Longtree,” he said, broadening his incredible
smile just enough to make Gwen go weak in the knees.

She realized their hands were still clasped, but she just
couldn’t seem to let go. “Hi, Tommy. I’m really sorry about Jezebel. She’s
usually very friendly.”

He winked at her. “No problem. I suppose I had it coming.”

Tommy slid his fingers from Gwen’s grip and brought his
fists up near his chin, then hopped around in a playful shadow-boxing dance. Just
when Gwen thought it couldn’t get stranger, Tommy struck out with his right
arm. Instead of landing a punch, he stopped his hand—which was now hooked into
a claw shape—a few inches from her neck and hissed.

He laughed. “Your pup’s scars don’t look too bad though—healed
up nicely. I must’ve been distracted or I probably would’ve knocked her furry
head off.”

“So were
cougars
,” Gwen muttered as she flopped down
on the padded armchair near the front window.

Alex handed her a glass of water and leveled a glare at
their guest.

Fucking Longtree.
Everything was a joke to him and
his kind.

“Technically they’re not ‘weres’—they’re born, not made.
They aren’t influenced by the lunar cycle or stress. They can shift at will,”
Alex explained.

Tommy jumped in front of Gwen, long legs spread apart, and
gyrated his hips like a stripper at a bachelorette party. He started unbuckling
his belt. “Yeah. Wanna see?”

“Go play with a ball of yarn, kitten,” Sergei said and
pushed Tommy Longtree toward the couch.

Still chuckling, Tommy sat down and held out his hands, palm
up. “Settle down, pooch. I’m just kidding around.”

Gwen took a sip of water, set her glass on the end table, then
slowly rose and crossed the room. When she was directly in front of the Cat
King, she nudged open his knees with her own and loomed over him.

“Ooo, human kitty wants to play,” Tommy scoffed, then draped
his arms over the back of the couch.

When Alex moved to break up the scene, Sergei laid a big
hand on his shoulder.
Let her deal with it, pack master,
he telepathed.

Alex stood down but remained on alert. He felt the human
hairs on the back of his neck stand at attention as if he were already shifted.

“No,
human kitty
does not want to play. She wants to
rip off your tail and stuff it up your ass!” Gwen shouted. “You tried to kill
us, you sick son of a bitch!”

Tommy shook his head and laughed, but Alex could hear the
nerves in his voice. “No, no, no. I wasn’t trying to kill you. I was protecting
you. I was
trying
to kill your dog.”

Gwen lunged forward, her hands outstretched toward Tommy’s
throat. He caught her wrists and pulled her down to him until their noses were
almost touching. Alex sprang into action but was stopped by Sergei’s huge hand
on his shoulder.

The scent of Gwen’s fear—and her arousal—were a stronger
restraint than the big Russian’s grasp. Her quickening heartbeat and panting
breath threatened to drown out all other noise. Alex wondered if Tommy could
hear it too, and judging by the self-satisfied smirk on his face, he could.

As if Gwen’s mate weren’t even in the room, Tommy tilted
that ridiculously handsome head of his, let go of one of Gwen’s wrists, then
stroked her cheek. “Miss Chaney, I’m afraid we’ve gotten off on the wrong foot.
Why don’t you sit that pretty round ass of yours down and let me fry up a snack
for you? Do you have any flour?”

Gwen sat at the kitchen table and watched Tommy Longtree
work his culinary magic. Alex and Sergei had pulled chairs up to the hearth
across the room and were deep in conversation. She didn’t care what they were
talking about; she was mesmerized by Tommy’s grace as he filleted the little
fish. He seemed as though he’d been cooking in her kitchen for years and
located his supplies with an uncanny ease. Tommy lit a flame under a pot of
oil, set out a platter with several layers of paper towel, then prepared the
coating.

Taking a sip from her third glass of wine, Gwen watched as
Tommy whisked eggs and milk in a large bowl. He twisted the top from a bottle
of beer, then added a splash to the egg mixture. In a second bowl, he combined
flour, salt and pepper.

“The secret is in the triple-dip,” he said without turning
to face her. “First dry, then wet, then dry again.”

He dredged the fillets through the dry mixture, then dipped
them in the wet before coating them with the dry again. The instant the
battered fish hit the oil, the cabin was filled with a mouth-watering aroma.

Jezebel and Bob padded across the worn plank floor and sat
near Tommy’s feet. He glanced at the dogs, then focused on the golden
retriever. “Are you looking for a peace offering, yellow dog?” he asked.

Tommy chuckled as he scooped the first batch of fillets from
the oil, then gingerly laid them on the paper towels to drain. Bob whined.

“Give it a second, doggy. They’ll burn your mouth.” When the
black lab barked, Tommy lifted a battered piece of meat to his lips and blew on
it before ripping it in half. “Ladies first, dude,” he said, then flipped a
chunk to each dog. Jez and Bob snapped the treats out of the air.

“Now, go lie down, you mangy curs,” Tommy said.

Bob loped easily across the cabin, but Jezebel waddled over
to the braided rug in front of the fireplace. Tommy laughed. “Yeah, that
definitely wasn’t the one your grandfather warned me about.”

“Excuse me?” Gwen said.

“The old man came to me in a dream. He said you were in
trouble and I should, ‘beware the yellow dog’. But these visions aren’t
literal. He might have been talking about something else entirely, or it might
have been just a random dream. Who knows?”

He shrugged, then turned back to the stove. Before plunging
the next batch into the oil, the chef plucked another piece from the plate and
turned. “Now, usually the rule is one for the chef first then one for the
hostess, but I kinda felt like I owed old Jezebel…you know, on account of how I
almost ripped off her head.”

Tommy took a bite of the fillet, then held out the remains
for Gwen. When she reached out to accept it, he shook his head then locked her
in his stare. “No, just open wide, gorgeous.”

Almost involuntarily, Gwen’s mouth dropped open. Something
about the seduction in his voice and her willingness to bend to it was
incredibly erotic. Her panties dampened and she hoped Cat People didn’t have
the acute sense of smell that werewolves had.

He didn’t give her the food right away and as the seconds
ticked by, Gwen studied his eyes. For an instant they morphed from the deepest
brown to yellow. When she blinked, the illusion disappeared and she wondered if
the wine was making her see things.

Finally, Tommy laid the morsel on her tongue as if he were
offering her communion. The contrast of the crisp, seasoned coating and the
tender, sweet fish was wonderful and Gwen moaned her appreciation.

Tommy’s eyes flashed golden again and when he stood straight,
her gaze dropped to the front of his jeans. A very obvious—and very large—erection
was outlined beneath the faded denim.

Boxers or briefs?
she wondered.

He chuckled and then turned back to the stove. After frying
up the rest of his catch, Tommy called Alex and Sergei back to the table. Fresh
bottles of wine and beer were opened and the four dug into the impromptu feast.

Gwen’s attention kept getting pulled across the table to
Tommy. He was beautiful, but the attraction wasn’t just to his looks. There was
something indescribable drawing her to him. Alex sat beside her and she was
conscious of him frequently glancing at her. He claimed he couldn’t read her
thoughts, but her lover clearly was aware of her interest in their guest.

“So, what were you and Sergei talking about earlier?” Gwen
asked, trying to deflect Alex’s examination of her.

Alex glanced at the bedroom door then leaned in toward Gwen.

“He told me about your run-in with Jenny this morning,” he
answered quietly.

Gwen sipped her wine. “Oh, that. Yeah, it was pretty
strange. I thought you guys didn’t allow hunting in broad daylight.”

She glanced across the table at Sergei and the big Russian
shook his head. “We do not allow it,” he confirmed. “Jenny is new and still
wild. I will remind her tonight of the rules.”

Gwen turned to Alex. “Exactly how wild? Should I be
worried?”

Alex shrugged. “That’s what we’re trying to figure out.
Describe again the last cycle she spent in the fledgling cave. Can you remember
anything ‘off’ about it?”

They’d already been over this—several times in fact. Alex’s
insistence on rehashing it yet again got on Gwen’s nerves. The rules were that
the human consort was to give the alpha her recommendation and he was to
respect it. Period. Gwen was beginning to feel like the star witness in a
murder trial and Alex was the prosecuting attorney.

She chewed another mouthful of delectable fried sunfish then
washed it down with a healthy slug of chardonnay. “She was different, Alex.”

“Different how?” he pressed.

A cold knot of foreboding twisted in Gwen’s gut. Had she
missed something? She dropped her gaze to her plate and pushed little bits of
batter around with her fork.
Different how?

* * * * *

Two Months Earlier

The little blonde had been none too happy when Gwen hadn’t
given her a passing grade after the third moon week in the cave. Before Jenny,
Gwen had ushered two other fledglings through the change. Three didn’t make the
new human consort an expert, but she felt certain this one wasn’t ready. Jenny was
even more pissed when Gwen couldn’t give her a concrete reason—not that she was
required to—and Alex had admonished the new werewolf for even asking.

There was no score card that Gwen filled out. Whether or not
a fledgling graduated from being a detainee to becoming one of the pack was
based on nothing more scientific than a gut feeling. Gwen had pored through the
journal her grandfather had left her, but every entry on the subject—going back
centuries—said about the same thing,
You’ll just know.

The behavior of the two fledglings before Jenny had been
shocking—frightening even—especially during the first few nights. But the first
had graduated after three cycles and the second after just two. She couldn’t
articulate exactly how she’d known they were ready. She just did.

Gwen had carefully studied the notes, poring over
descriptions of snapping, snarling, supernatural beasts, in an effort to ready
herself for what was to come. But no amount of reading could have prepared her
for what she would see in that deep, dark cave. Fear and moon lust drove the
fledglings and their initial changes were violent. Overcome by pain and
confusion, they’d thrown themselves against the stone walls and spewed vile,
murderous threats at her.

The instructions her predecessors had left on this point were
clear. She was to sit outside the iron-barred cell for seven nights—the evening
of the full moon and the three on either side of it—and bear witness to the
change. She could offer kind words and encouragement, but she was not to
interfere in any way with the process. Before Alex had explained her role as
protector, she hadn’t understood why she was there at all.

Per her instructions, Gwen had told each of the fledglings
the same thing on their first night, “Nothing you can say or do will shock me,”
but that wasn’t quite true. Seeing their bodies contort and stretch into
something between human and beast was jarring, but it was the anger that scared
her the most. Their anger was so intense, it was almost palpable.

Jenny had been the worst. Though the two before her had
settled down considerably after the first lunar cycle, Jenny had maintained her
hate-filled rage throughout three. During the third moon week, Jenny had
outdone herself, at one point threatening that she would “slice your belly wide
open and slide around on your guts, you fucking cow!”

When the two women had headed into the cave on the fourth
week, Gwen wondered if Jenny would ever gain enough control to roam free under
the full moon. The human consort had settled into the old rocking chair outside
the cell, plucked a tattered paperback from the basket and pretended to read.

On that night, the book was just a prop—something to rest
her gaze on so she wouldn’t have to meet Jenny’s glare. She didn’t want her
charge to know exactly how frightened she was. Gwen glanced up a couple of
times and found the new werewolf sitting on the cot, fidgeting with her clothes
and toying with the edge of the thin mattress.
Maybe she’s as scared as I
am.

When the moon had risen high enough to cast its rays through
the skylight in the cell, Jenny had stood and slowly stripped naked. Her
attention seemed riveted to the ceiling and Gwen waited for the agitated pacing
and ranting to begin. It never did.

Instead, Jenny’s arms hung loosely at her sides and the pale
yellow light washed over her expressionless face. She could have been any young
woman out stargazing. When the change began, she barely seemed to notice. Even
when the silky blonde fur erupted from every pore and her tiny upturned nose
stretched into a long snout filled with sharp teeth, she barely flinched.

Gwen had dropped her book back into the basket and watched
in fascination. This shift was like none she’d ever witnessed before. Rather
than violent and grotesque, Jenny’s change was so beautiful that it conjured up
images of a butterfly emerging from a cocoon.

The next six nights were more of the same. Jenny seemed to
embrace each transformation and when Gwen unlocked the cell door on the last
morning of the fourth cycle, one word echoed in her mind.

Serene.

* * * * *

Present

“Serene,” Gwen finally said in answer to Alex’s question.
“She seemed so calm on that last cycle. Almost like she’d been drugged.”

Alex set down his fork and turned his gaze toward the
cabin’s ceiling, as if he were trying to work something out.

“Well, that must be it,” he finally said. “I’ve thought
since the beginning that her former drug use was causing her strange behavior.
I guess it just took a while for the damage to her brain to heal. Maybe the
regeneration of the cells kind of went into overdrive in the process and dumped
a big dose of endorphins into her system during that fourth moon week.”

“What about her little cottontail snack today in the
clearing?” Tommy interjected.

The annoyance in Alex’s expression was obvious as he turned
toward Tommy, then Gwen. “You told him?”

Tommy laughed. “Dude, don’t start pissing all over, marking
your territory. She didn’t tell me anything. You guys were like twenty feet
away from me clucking about it like a pair of old hens. Doggies aren’t the only
ones with excellent hearing.”

Gwen glanced back at Alex and thought he looked almost
embarrassed by the obvious oversight. He cleared his throat and sat up a bit
straighter. “I don’t know—relapse maybe. I’m going to chalk it up to youth and
inexperience. Jenny’s what—nineteen—twenty?”

“She is twenty-two,” Sergei said quietly.

“Okay, twenty-two. Even as a human, she probably didn’t have
much self-control. She’s by far the youngest in the pack. You’re just going to
have to remind your mate of the rules, Sergei.”

The Russian nodded and took another swig from his bottle of
beer.

Alex stood and gathered up his plate and silverware. “Well,
let’s just take a wait-and-see attitude. I think we’ve answered all of the
questions we can tonight.”

“Not all of the questions,” Tommy offered. “The human has
one.”

Gwen’s brow knitted. “No I don’t.”

He winked at her. “Oh sure you do. You were just wondering
earlier, ‘boxers or briefs?’”

The sensation of Alex’s glare only heightened Gwen’s
embarrassment. She wasn’t sure if she was more upset about her lover’s anger or
the fact that the Cat King could read her mind.

Tommy reached across the table and grabbed Gwen’s hand. “Just
to put your curiosity to rest, sweetheart, the answer is neither. Underneath
these jeans I’m
au naturel
. If you’d ditch that mutt, I’d be happy to
show you.”

He punctuated the statement with another playful snarl and
in a blink of an eye, furniture and dishes were clattering against the kitchen
floor. Though the table had been overturned, Gwen remained frozen in her chair,
unable to move as she watched the melee unfold.

The werewolf alpha had the leader of the Cat People by the
throat. Alex’s clothing strained as the shift overtook him. Before he had fully
transformed, Tommy Longtree’s jeans and tank top were hanging awkwardly from
the sleek body of a large mountain lion.

Bob and Jezebel were barking madly and Gwen’s eyes widened
as Sergei Markov burst into full werewolf form. The violence of the change
shredded his clothing. The former basketball player was over seven-feet tall as
a human. In an instant at least a half foot was added to his height. His
fur-covered arms were almost impossibly long and he used it to his advantage.

Stepping between the two alpha males, Sergei grabbed each by
the scruff, and swiftly separated them. “This must stop!” he demanded in a
gravelly, otherworldly voice.