Lycan Alpha Claim (#1): (BBW Shifter Romance) (Brief-Bites Novelette) (4 page)

Merck

There she is, right on schedule.

I dip my head, eyeing my archaic wristwatch.
Nope—she's a few minutes late. My brow furrows.

If there's one thing I've noticed about
Talyn Phisher in the last two months of tailing her—she's
punctual.

Once she's out of her garage and leaving for
work. I move to my old-fashioned mode of transport.

I can't be my good wolf self in broad
daylight. Someone would take note. Or many someones.

Instead I hop on my fatboy
Harley and turn over the engine. Low purring pipes, specially
outfitted
sans
the classic
eardrum-splitting wail. Loud noises are hell on Lycan
hearing.

I pull away from the curb three blocks from
Talyn's little bungalow and make steady progress to her downtown
office. I like where it's located.

Phillips street is now a mecca for the
vamps. It's been months since the vamps were outed and mundanes are
just now appearing at night again.

The Final Enforcement saw to
that. And shit, wasn't
that
something. A fully hybrid vamp/human still works there along
with another enforcer who is full vamp.

I shake my head in wonder with
a chuckle.
They'll let anyone in
.

However, gotta count my blessings. It takes
the heat of being observed by the astute off my shoulders. Before
the vamps were discovered in plain sight, the Lycans were vigilant
in their concealment.

Now—with the vamps swinging their dicks in
front of the world—the Lycans have a temporary reprieve, even
Changers.

My bike rolls down Phillips, and I glide
right past the Carpenter Hotel. It's not really a hotel anymore.
That was the building's original distinction when it was built over
a hundred years ago. Now it's a holding tank for Hunters and others
of the supernatural persuasion.

It also houses four business suites on the
ground level.

One of those is Talyn's cozy
shrink-tank.

That goth female teen who'd come out of
there yesterday as Talyn's last patient of the day had the smell of
revelation all over her.

When Talyn followed a few minutes later, her
smell had been despondent.

The girl had talked, and whatever Talyn had
heard was bad. Very.

That's the nature of her work. Talyn will
enjoy leaving that behind. Her solitary life of work, home and work
again, will end.

She'll join the Midwestern pack and find
something she loves to do.

My hands tighten on my grips. They squeak in
protest.

And a mate
. Don't
forget that, Merck—she'll be fucking some other Lycan and having
his whelps.

We need all the females we can
get
, I reason. And the Lanarre pick the Lycan
who have the skill set to sniff out the hybrids among the human
mundane population.

Whether it be a heightened scent range,
protective abilities, discernment. Hell, I still don't know why
they picked me. Fifty years I've been on the prowl for
transitioning females and I still don't know. None of the Lycan
males understand the selection process. And it's a dual-edged
sword.

You're like a priest, you serve something
honorable, but you can never have that which you honor.

I sigh, pulling into a slot across the
street, hogging the entire parking space for my bike.

I grin.

I feed quarters into the meter. They're slow
to be received. I won't be swiping my thumbprint for credit
payment. That's what Lycans want: a record of my presence to be
traced by the mundanes for later reference.

What if someone needs killing? Or something.
No—better to be mainly invisible.

I hop onto the street, light pedestrian
traffic moves around me like a living river around am immoveable
boulder.

The mundanes do so unconsciously. Them
deferring to me. Somewhere in all that rudimentary DNA they are
aware of their place.

Below.

I stroll causally to the building across the
street from the Carpenter Hotel and pretend to investigate the new
construction.

I've done this several times. I already know
these loft condos will be five in the unit with an elevator for the
richies that can shell out the dough to live in the heart of
downtown's up-and-coming. Underground parking—pet area—the works.
All yours for five hundred K.

I allow a low sound of disgust.

I use the dirtied windows layered in
construction dust to watch Talyn in the reflection.

She exits her car, closing the door
carefully and stretches.

My brow creases. I catch myself before I can
turn but my fingertips tingle with the low-level adrenaline that
courses through me.

I flare my nostrils hard.

Heat.

Sex.

Her feminine scent hits me like a
sledgehammer between the eyes.

My eyes travel her form, the reflective
qualities leave much to be desired.

I can see her unrested eyes, flat and dull.
Her skin has all the markings of the turbulent events that will
no-doubt transpire. Her gait looks impeded by stiffness.

There's no doubt Talyn's old for a
change.

I know that. But she's not moving like an
almost thirty-eight year old. She's moving like she's on the good
side of seventy.

I bite my lip to keep from grinning.

Joint pain?
Check
.

Unless she's suddenly developed arthritis
then she's degrading.

I lift my nose, scenting hard a second time.
I was right. Smelling her sweet pussy isn't distinctive. I've been
smelling hers and every other female within a mile my entire
life.

Smelling the onset of heat is another matter
entirely.

I turn around just as her hand touches the
knob.

Talyn hesitates, gripping the handle.

Suddenly she whirls as though sensing
me.

Of course she's too slow.

I'm already at my bike and feigning a once
over at the throttle and gears.

Her eyes burn over me and my breath boils
inside my throat.

My cock hardens against the uniform of
denims I wear to blend with the humans.

Talyn's scent sharpens, drifting over the
cars that move past—the fifty people that mill between her and
me.

I crouch down, wincing at the pinching of my
dick, shifting to relieve the pressure.

Talyn's heat engulfs me as though she's
standing beside me. Suffocating me.

I don't look up, I pretend to check my
bike.

A full minute passes.

When the sensation of her eyes are gone, and
more importantly—the exquisite smell of her scent has faded, I
rise.

Looking both ways, I cross the street.

I don't move toward the Carpenter Hotel, but
towards the back.

Soon
, I vow through
gritted teeth.

Talyn

The small hairs at my nape rise. The skin
feels as though someone is directly behind me, exhaling their hot
breath on my neck.

I spin.

And gaze across Phillips street.

Okay—I'm well and truly crazy. Using a word
in my mind that is so much more than a swear word in my
profession.

Bonkers. Crazier than a loon. Insane. Nuts.
A fry short of a Happy Meal.

Yup.

But then my eyes find him.

I blink.

He's busy. Every inch of him. Encased in
tight jeans and a black t-shirt.

I lick my lips. Instant lust is not
something I'm prone to. I still have a set of D batteries for my
favorite dildo lying around. But now with pulse tech, everything is
charged via pulse power.

Right now I'm really pulsing.

The same wave of heat washes over me. But
instead of me thinking it's a hot flash, I recognize it for what it
is.

I'm in lust. For a complete stranger.

A biker, by the looks of it.

I bite my lip, squeezing my thighs together
for the second time in twenty-four hours.

I remember that pair of blue eyes from the
other night. The ones I didn't imagine.

The guy that came on to me at the gym last
night had blue eyes too—Jimmy, Johnnie? I can't remember, he was so
underwhelming.

Look up.

He doesn't.

He's crouched down, his muscular ass holding
the rest of his hotness just above the ground as he checks the
engine on a sleek black Harley. His head dips as he inspects the
bike. I pick out the highlights the sun casts in his military
short, nutmeg-colored hair.

Come on, Talyn.

Still, I can't take my eyes off him. Every
time he leans forward to check another thing, a tricep or bicep
bulges cooperatively.

And I find myself latching onto the bulge in
his jeans. Which seems pretty large for a guy doing a little engine
perusal.

The more I stare, the more I flush with
desire. My knees literally weaken, my heart speeds, palms
dampening.

I wipe them on my short skirt.

Get a grip.

He obviously won't look at me.

I give a shaky laugh. You're not that
interesting, princess. Move on.

I turn and finish opening the door. My damp
skin chills as the AC hits me as I move inside the building.

I feel foolish.

That doesn't stop me from hanging back in
the shadows and watching him another three full minutes.

Nor does the gasp from my mouth get stifled
when he rises.

He's tall—a brick house of a man. Broad
shoulders shift as he strides into two-way traffic, deftly dodging
impact by two cars with only inches to spare.

His fingers flex as he hops with a fluid
grace to the curb then marches around my building, going toward the
back. He doesn't turn in my direction.

Does he have blue eyes?

Those
blue
eyes.

I rush into my office and catch sight of
Patty, the assistant who serves both offices on this side of the
building.

“
Hi!” I call out
breathlessly.

She sees the look on my face and begins to
rise.

I immediately feel ridiculous. “No, sit! I'm
just checking on something.”

Someone. Some total stranger who couldn't
care less about me.

But I have to know why I had that spark of
intuition. There were fifty people on the street. Why did I take
note of only him?

Because he's hot as hell.

There
is
that. But I know it has got to be
more.

I rip around to the back, fling open the
shade with a yank of the cord and a face fills the glass.

I scream.

It's the guy from the gym.

Patty and I sit together in two chairs.

Across from Jamie.

This is how bad of a counselor I am: I can't
even remember the guy's name who tried to ask me out.

However, I
do
recall the yoga pants comment and cringe. I'm
being kind, thinking he
was
asking
me out. I'm not a Gold Gym Body Babe. I'm a late-thirties,
curvy-to-the max, bookish type.

I don't do casual. I
don't
do
losers. I think Jamie's
really barking up the wrong tree.

“
Listen, I appreciate your
interest,” I begin.

Patty's eyes are very large in her face as
she sits beside me with her hands tightly clasped.

I'm tense, but direct. I can do this. “But
you can't visit my place of work for reasons other than
business.”

Jamie leans back on the lobby couch. I'm
just waiting for him to pitch a tent.

Immediately I assess him. Arrogant,
cold—indifferent. He has my psyche flags rising and bonking me
directly between my eyes.

His fingers drum on the back of the couch
and he cocks his head, dirty blond hair overshooting the tips of
his ears. “There's no law against showing up here and getting a
little emotional help?” He smirks, his teeth are very white. A tad
sharkish.

I suppress a shiver.

He's kind of handsome. When he doesn't open
his mouth. That seems to be the main problem.

And I don't think I can help him with
that.

I smile politely. The effort feels like a
Ronald McDonald mask. “You're right of course.”

Placate.

His grin escalates to condescending.

“
However, after our interlude
last night at the gym, I thought I was quite clear that my interest
in you doesn't extend beyond friendship.”

Distance
.

He nods as though thinking it
over. I'm pretty sure he's not. “Oh you
were
, there's no doubt.”

I rise to physically cue the conclusion of
the impromptu meeting.

Patty takes that as a hint, and with her
wide eyes bulging out of her face, she rounds the corner of her
desk a few paces away.

She'll be pulsing the police about
now
.

I form puzzlement on my features as I turn
to face him.

Jamie stands, uncomfortably close to me. I
fight not to back away.

No negotiation.

“
Don't look confused,
doctor
.”

My palms dampen.

Inform
.

“
I'm just uncertain as to why
you've come here.”

His hand locks around my wrist like a
snakebite.

My pulse obligingly pushes against his
fingers as they tighten around the small bones. Fear grips me and I
instantly bury it in a deep grave.

I inhale slowly and let it out, making no
move to fight his grip.

Diffuse.
I open my
mouth and he interrupts, his eyes flicking to my parted
lips.

Adrenaline expands like an air bubble in a
vast ocean.