Alpha Initiation (Alpha Blood #1) (Werewolf Romance) Read online

  Brier stopped in front of the cell with a calm, disinterested expression on his face. "I'll keep you for a month and the voting be damned."

  The fool's mouth dropped open. "You can't do that! We have rights!"

  Brier's arm whipped out and grabbed the man's shirt collar. The Protector pulled the loud-mouthed man against the bars where his lips slammed into the silver metal. The man screamed and flailed his arms and those, too, knocked into the bars. He stiffened with his arms straight out behind him with small puffs of smoke coming out from his burn injuries. "Your rights end when you break the rules here," Brier growled. Now I saw the family resemblance with the sheriff, but at least this Brier wasn't harassing good people. "You make trouble again and I'll see to it that you don't leave this cell for that month. Got it?"

  "Got it," the man whimpered through his burnt lips. Brier let him go and the man stumbled back into the crowd behind him.

  Brier looked around at the silent prisoners. "Anyone else want to argue with me?"

  "I'll give it a try," a smooth voice spoke up. All eyes turned to the dungeon entrance where Stacy leaned against the wall on the bottom step. She had a smile on her impeccable lips, and pushed off the wall to walk up to the Protector. "Mind letting some of these prisoners go, Chief Protector?" she cooed.

  Brier was unmoved by her powers of persuasion. "No."

  Stacy frowned and crossed her arms over her chest. She dropped the cute act and exchanged it for the businesswoman character. "What'll it take to break a few of them out?" she asked him.

  "A miracle."

  "I prefer a more reliable method."

  "That's the only one you got because none of them are leaving until they've had a chance to cool down."

  "And that will be how long?"

  He glanced over all of our tense faces. "A few hours." He nodded at the idiot. "For him it'll be twenty-four hours." The man growled, but didn't give any sass this time.

  "What if the High Lord demanded it?" Stacy suggested.

  That got Brier's attention. "Has he demanded someone's release?" he asked her.

  Stacy shrugged. "Perhaps he has." She looked over the crowds of prisoners eager for escape and settled on Luke and me. "Perhaps he wants those two freed," she told him, pointing at us.

  Brier looked over at us, and then back at Stacy. "Why them?"

  "He demands to give his blessing for their union," she replied.

  Brier gave her a penetrating look and Stacy returned it with one of her own. He scowled, but signaled to his men to free us. They pulled us from the cells and shoved us over to where Stacy stood close by the stairs. "This is done only once. Even the High Lord can't bend the law to suit his needs too many times," Brier told her.

  "I'll be sure to remember that, Protector," she cooed.

  We followed her upstairs and I was glad to breathe the clean air of the lobby. Luke glanced at her with a raised eyebrow. "Did your father really want us freed?" Luke asked her.

  Stacy coyly smiled. "No, but his name has gotten me out of a few scrapes I figured it'd work for you two."

  "It may cost you if the Chief Protector finds you've lied to him," Luke warned her.

  She shook her head. "It was worth it. Something's happened."

  Luke raised an eyebrow. "What something?"

  "I'll show you."

  Stacy led us through the maze of passages to the room beside ours that was occupied by Alistair. I noticed something on the floor and gasped. There was a small trail of blood on the stones, and the drippings led through the doorway of Alistair's room. Luke's eyes widened and his nostrils flared at the smell of the fresh blood. There was a grim expression on her face as she nodded and opened the door. Luke rushed inside and found Alistair on his bed. The man wasn't moving. We hurried over to the bedside and were both relieved when we noticed he was breathing, though his gasps were ragged. His clothes were torn to ribbons and there were claw marks all over his body.

  "Alistair?" he called to his manservant. Alistair didn't acknowledge his name. Luke turned to Stacy. "What happened?"

  "I found him out in the woods below the station crawling back to Sanctuary after an interview with an informant," she explained to us. "He was barely conscious and half transformed. I barely recognized him."

  "He didn't say who did this to him?"

  She shook her head. "He couldn't speak, and he collapsed before I carried him in here."

  "Does anyone else know about this?" Luke asked her.

  "No one. I cleaned up what I could of his blood, but I heard the commotion downstairs and went to investigate. I thought there might have been an attack on the whole building," she explained to him.

  Luke leaned down and sniffed Alistair, and he scowled. "Was he like this when you found him?"

  "She already said yes," I spoke up.

  "That's not what he's meaning," Stacy told me. "There's no scent on Alistair other than his own. If he was attacked by anyone else there should be some scent." She gently took one of Alistair's hands and lifted it up to show off his dirty fingernails. "There's even blood underneath his nails, and yet I can't smell anything from it."

  "So is this a big deal?" I asked them.

  "Very big," Luke replied. "The werewolf society is held together without the use of a large policing force because we have the ability to smell one another."

  "So if someone commits a crime they just need to follow the trail?" I guessed.

  "Exactly. Without the ability to track, and with no modern policing methods at our disposal, the crime in the werewolf world would explode," he finished.

  "That's not good."

  "No, it's not, and that's what raises the stakes here," Luke added.

  "What really raises the stakes is that vote tomorrow," Stacy argued. "Lance is a shoe-in to win unless we can buy some votes or convince everyone he's the last werewolf they want for the job."

  Luke grimly sighed. "And we can't leave Alistair alone for a moment. If our enemies can't be smelled and they learn he's alive then they may try another attempt on his life."

  "If we want to avoid them finding out he's alive then I'm going to need help cleaning up his scent leading to his room," Stacy pointed out as she rubbed her hands together. "It isn't easy cleaning these stones of his blood droplets."

  "I can help," I offered.

  "And I will stay here and watch him," Luke replied.

  "Good, let's get mopping, Becky," Stacy encouraged.

  We armed ourselves with the necessary cleaning supplies and a couple buckets of water. There was one chemical I didn't recognize that was packaged in a green bottle with a wolf silhouette as the emblem. Stacy caught me staring at it before we left on our mission. "It's a special cleaner used to eliminate tough odors, specially made in one of the werewolf regions," she explained to me. "It's the only thing that will remove the scent so a werewolf can't be smelled by hunting dogs or other werewolves."

  "Wouldn't something like this make werewolves invisible to each other?" I pointed out.

  She tossed me a pair of thick rubber gloves. "No, because for us it's dangerous to the touch, so we have to wear these gloves to scrub with it."

  We snuck out into the hallway and the area was quiet because so many of the rowdy guests were still incarcerated in the dungeon. Stacy retraced her steps and I followed along with both of us thoroughly and quickly scrubbing the floor. She'd taken one of the less-used hall and stairwells, and since we were alone I decided to ask her a few questions.

  "So, um, how long have you known Luke?" I wondered.

  She smiled, but didn't look up. "A few centuries. He was made fifty years before me."

  "Wow. That's a long time to know somebody," I commented. " After that long you two must be really good friends."

  Stacy paused and glanced up from her scrubbing. "This is about my liking Luke, isn't it?" she guessed.

  I hung my head and gave a nod. "Yeah," I mumbled.

  "Are you afraid I'm competition?" she mused with a chuckle in her to
ne.

  "You are kind of prettier than I am," I pointed out.

  Stacy shook her head and sighed. "I'll admit I wish we were competition, but I'm afraid looks or how long you've known someone don't decide if you'll be their mate."

  "So what does?" I asked her.

  "The scent."

  I blinked. "The scent?"

  She laughed and returned to her scrubbing. "You really are green. Hasn't that ninny taught you anything?"

  "He's taught me he can be an ass," I replied.

  "Unfortunately, he can be, but you can't completely blame him for choosing you. It was the scent that brought you together, a sort of subconscious tingling in the back of our minds that tells us we've found the person we were meant to be with," she explained to me.

  "Like finding a soul mate?" I guessed.

  "Sort of, but on a more primitive level. We are descended from wolves, after all," she told me.

  "We are?"

  Stacy sighed and shook her head. "Remind me to knock some sense into that man when we get back. You should know much more than this."

  I grinned. "With pleasure."

  Chapter 22

  We finished with the interior scrubbing without being seen, but there was a problem with outside. We couldn't scrub the pine needle and dirt-strewn path up to the villa. All we could do was kick more dirt over it and cover most of the scent. I glanced at Stacy. "What now?" I asked her.

  She shook her head. "Now we hope that whoever attacked him will decide he isn't worth a second beating." We returned to the room to find Luke had cleaned Alistair's wounds and wrapped him in bandages. "How long will he need to mend?" Stacy wondered.

  "A day or two. The cuts are deep," Luke replied.

  "Is that it?" I gasped. I thought for sure we'd be playing wrap-the-mummy with him for a month.

  Stacy frowned, stalked over to where Luke sat in a chair beside Alistair's bed, and knocked him on the head. Luke cringed and whipped his head around to glare at her. "What's that for?" he asked her.

  She gestured to me. "You haven't taught her a damn thing about werewolves, have you?"

  "I taught her the basics of our society." Luke received another rap on the head for that. "Why is that bad?" he growled.

  "Because that's an overwhelming-"

  "-and boring," I added.

  "-subject to start a new werewolf on," she argued. "The basics of our abilities, strengths, weaknesses, and history would have been a better start. Have you even told her about yourself and your family?"

  "I'm afraid our enemies haven't given us time to sit down together for a long chat," he shot back.

  Stacy grabbed a chair and shoved it beside Luke. Then she stomped over to me, grabbed my shoulders and guided me into the set chair. "The voting doesn't start until eight tomorrow morning, and right now it's only nine in the morning. I'll try to find who attacked Alistair, but because we couldn't clean the blood outside the villa you two will have to stay here and sit watch over Alistair." Luke opened his mouth to object, but one evil eye from her and his voice choked. I dreamed of having that sort of power over him. "Not a word of argument. Tell her what she needs to know. I'll check on you three later tonight to see how things are going."

  Before either of us could argue Stacy strode out of the room and shut the door behind herself. I glanced to Luke at my side and snickered when I saw the dumbfounded, steam-rolled look on his face. "She really knows how to get what she wants," I commented.

  Luke frowned and ran a hand through his hair. "Yes. She's had centuries of practice."

  I took a page from the Book of Stacy and took charge of the conversation. "So what do you need to tell me?"

  He sighed and leaned back in his chair. "What do you know?"

  I shrugged. "We're werewolves, and we have a really complicated government."

  Luke cringed. "This may take all day."

  "We've got time."

  "Quite a bit, and to be honest I'm not sure where to start."

  I furrowed my brow and glanced down at my hands in my lap. I lifted a hand and stared at the finely sharpened nails. Being a werewolf had its perks, and I had an idea. "Why don't you teach me how to change?" I suggested.

  "In this small space? That wouldn't be a good idea," he advised.

  "You have any better idea, teacher? Besides, if I don't know how to transform and defend myself I'm probably going to end up worse off than Alistair," I argued.

  Luke sighed, but nodded his head. "All right. Stand up." He guided me over to the center of the room and we faced each other with three feet between us. Luke held up his hand and showed off his smooth, long fingers. "We'll start with the arm. It's the least damaging to clothing and the most effective tool against enemies."

  I smirked. "I don't know. A good kick in the crotch with a clawed foot is pretty effective, too."

  Luke managed a smile. "True, but what if the attacker is female?"

  "Then it's still pretty effective. We girls are sensitive down there, too, ya know."

  His eyes twinkled with mischief. "I have some personal experience with down there, but we'll focus on transforming without sexual arousal."

  "Yeah, I don't really expect our enemies to get me horny."

  "I would hope not."

  "So how do I change my hand, teacher?"

  "Through concentration." His fingers and nails lengthened, and hair sprouted from his palm. "It's a matter of focusing on the Beast inside of you and changing the part of the body that you need. Changing the whole body is much easier because there is no specific area to train your thoughts, but you may not be able to control the instinct of the Beast so we'll stick with the hand."

  "All right, so I just imagine my hand all furry and clawed?" I guessed.

  He shook his head. "Not entirely. That helps, but you also have to imagine using the claw. Slashing it through the air is a good image to focus on along with gutting an enemy and-"

  "-and that's kind of sick," I gagged.

  Luke grinned. "Well, I suppose you don't have much personal experience with such imagery, so we'll stick with slashing the air rather than an enemy."

  "The air molecules will be my enemy."

  He chuckled. "And they won't stand a chance, but don't forget to focus on the physical aspect." He held up his half-transformed limb, more paw than hand now, and turned it around and around. "See the texture of the hair and the sharp fingernails? How the light shines on each thread and muscle?"

  "This reminds me of a beauty care commercial."

  "Focus, Becky," he scolded.

  "All right, all right." I sighed, raised my arm like Luke's, and my eyes zeroed in on my hand. It was a nice, normal hand. Well-manicured since my werewolf change and very smooth. Now I needed to make it all soft, fuzzy, and vicious. I squinted my eyes and imagined the nice, soft fur waving in the breeze and the claws slicing through to cut in half a dangerous leaf blowing in the wind. My mind inevitably wandered to how soft the fur would feel against my cheeks, and how I'd giggle and-

  -and something was not quite right. I felt something poof out of my cheeks and all over the rest of my face. I reached up and my fingers sank into a carpet of fluffy fur. I'd imagined my cheeks against fur, and fur had sprouted from my cheeks. Luke barked out a laugh that echoed around the room. I scowled at him through my furry face. "That's not funny," I growled.

  "But you're not seeing it from my view," he protested.

  "You won't be seeing anything through two black eyes if you don't tell me how to reverse this," I threatened.

  "Not without a picture," he insisted. He stepped over to the door adjoining our room, but I jumped and blocked his path.

  "Oh hell no. You are so not doing anything but telling me how to undo it," I persisted.

  Luke wiped the tears from his eyes and shrugged. "Very well. Imagine yourself as though you were looking into a mirror."

  "All I'm seeing right now is a carpet looking back at me," I grumbled.

  "Your human self," he emphasized. I
sighed and closed my eyes. My image floated through my mind. Nice, normal, human me smiling back and probably laughing at my stupid furry face. I felt the fur shrink back into my skin and in a moment the itchiness was gone.

  "Am I back to normal?" I asked him.

  "All done," Luke assured me. I opened my eyes and reached up to feel nothing but smooth skin. He chuckled. "When we have children I'll be sure to relate to them this story."

  "Do and they'll suddenly be in a one-parent household," I warned him.

  He smiled and stepped back to the center of the room. "Should we try the hand again?" he offered.

  "All right, but this better work," I mumbled.

  "The problem wasn't the transformation, but your thoughts," he pointed out. "You need to focus on that single part of the body and not on any other part."

  I sighed and nodded. "I'll try." I raised my hand and glared at the fingers. Stupid fingers not getting hairy. All I wanted was for them to look nice and long and pointy. Then I could hack and slash through forests, and slice tomatoes without needing a knife. To my surprise and glee my fingers stretched and short stalks of hair slipped out from my skin. My face lit up and I had to contain myself from bouncing up and down. "It's working! It's working!" I cried out.

  Luke smiled and put his hands on my shoulders. "Easy there, Becky. You're not done yet. Let's try to get the hand finished, and then back to its human counterpart."

  I nodded and glared at my hand, willing it to change. The fingers lengthened and the nails became as hard as-well, nails. The fur grew taller and shimmered in the light. I pushed through with the transformation until I felt like I hit a brick wall. Everything just stopped. "I can't do anything else," I told Luke.

  "Does it feel like you've hit a wall?" he asked me.

  "Yeah, a brick one."

  "Then you've reached the end of your transformation."

  "So I do what now? Rewind?"

  "Try out the hand," he invited me.

  "How?"

  Luke looked around the room and his eyes fell on a bowl of fruit. He grabbed an apple, turned to me, and held it up in front of him. "Try to catch this." He tossed it to me and I swiped it from the air. I didn't know my own strength because the hard fruit squished in my hand and apple juice ran down my arm.