Alpha Blood Box Set (BBW Werewolf / Shifter Romance) Read online

  “Here, here!” Burnbaum shouted. That riled up both sides of the aisle as they argued for or against the change.

  Stevens smashed the handle of his gavel against the desk and the remains broke apart in his clawed hands. “That is enough! We will have a vote from the lords who represent you, and be done with the discussion!”

  Simpling arose from his seat. “I second the motion to vote on the change, if only for the safety of those present.”

  Another man beside Simpling who I guessed was Mullen also stood. “I third the motion.”

  Luke jumped from his seat. “I second Baker’s motion to delay the vote until the traditional week is complete.” Baker didn’t smile, but he bowed his head at Luke, who returned the compliment.

  “I abstain from this vote,” Stevens refused. He glanced over to Farber. “What way will you vote, Farber?”

  Farber stood with a smile and relished the attention on himself. “This is most perplexing, your High Lord. It gives one pause to think-”

  “Just give me your answer,” Stevens snapped.

  Farber pouted, but nodded at Lance. “I will agree with Lance, and fourth the motion.”

  A great commotion arose from the crowd, and even those on the red side weren’t too thrilled with this change of a time-honored schedule. Stevens, now with a little more hair on his hands and face, pounded a claw against the desk. “Enough! There will be no speaking out of turn while I preside over this meeting!” his voice boomed over the crowd. He pointedly glanced at Luke and Baker. “This is all very preposterous, but I do not wish to have a heated disagreement among the lords and plead with the two dissenters to agree with their fellow representatives.”

  “That’s something we can’t do, High Lord,” Luke refused.

  Stevens scowled. “You are being very difficult, but very well,” he replied. The High Lord turned to Lance, and there was a growl of disapproval in his tone. “You have your majority of the lords who represent our people, but I will have it recorded that this has never been done in our three hundred years of elections and I heartily disapprove of the change.”

  “Duly noted, High Lord, but I care more for the safety of my people than for the traditions of politics,” Lance boldly replied. He received a resounding round of applause from his side and plenty of boos from the other side of the aisle.

  Stevens’ face turned an unhealthy shade of purple, but he kept his temper in check. He stood, glanced over the lords, and nodded at the person to his left who retrieve an old notebook from the desk. It looked to be covered in blackened hide. “Those who wish to be nominated stand and be recognized by the Recorder.”

  All six of the competing lords stepped out into the aisle. For a moment Lance and Luke stood side by side, and I was struck by the similar glint in their blue eyes. Lance smirked at Luke, who returned the look with pursed lips and narrowed eyes. The pair led the others up the center stairs onto the stage, where each of them gave their name to the Recorder. Stevens was a sight with his pursed lips and red, angry face.

  I slid over to Stacy. “Is your dad usually this angry?” I whispered to her.

  She shrugged. “Only when he doesn’t get his way,” she replied.

  Stevens stood and grabbed the book which he raised high so the crowd could see it. “All the lords have given their names for nomination. You have twenty-four hours to decide your vote and they will be gathered by the ballot gatherers tomorrow at this time.” Stevens slammed the book against the Recorder’s chest and marched up the center aisle. His robe carriers hurried about him and the audience erupted in disbelief and gossip. Lance and his lackey lords followed them out of the room.

  Stacy leaned toward us. “I have to go talk with a few sources about these terrorists and I’ll meet you back in your room,” she told us.

  “Be careful,” Luke warned her.

  She smiled and winked at him. “I’m a big girl, I can take care of myself.” With that she hurried off to her investigations.

  Rumors flew faster than rockets as speculation arose about the terrorists. Many neutral individuals hurried from the room, fearful of both sides of the aisle. Baker stormed out while Burnbaum pushed through the crowd to us. With the room in an uproar no one could overhear our conversation. Hell, I could barely hear our conversation. “This is not good. We have no time to plan this vote,” he told us.

  A man with a red armband grinned at us from across the aisle. It was the same one who’d spat on Burnbaum the day before. “Don’t have time to rig the votes, eh?” he jeered.

  Burnbaum glared at him, but Luke put a calming hand on his friend’s arm. “We have bigger problems to deal with than him,” he reminded the innkeeper.

  Burnbaum clenched his teeth, turned his back on the man, and nodded. “Da. Do you believe this rumor of terrorists?” he asked Luke.

  Luke frowned. “Only if Lance makes them.”

  Unfortunately for us, our jeering opponent didn’t take well to being ignored. He pushed his way to us and sneered at our worried faces. “Don’t be so sad. Maybe you still have time to blow the place up,” he encouraged.

  That was the insult that broke Burnbaum’s patience. The innkeeper swung around and smashed his fist into the man’s face. I heard bone shatter beneath the collision, and the man reeled back with his face covered in blood and broken teeth. He was caught by his friends, who promptly dropped him and dove at Burnbaum. The innkeeper performed the same plastic surgery on them, and with the help of some of his friends pushed them back across the aisle. That prompted the entire left column to jump into the fray, and Burnbaum’s party followed suit. It was a hail of punches, bites, clawing and screaming, and before I knew what I was doing I’d joined the fray with my own long claws extended for maximum damage.

  Luke pulled me from the fight with me covered in blood, but very little of it was mine. A commotion sounded from the doors at the top of the stairs and Protector Brier with his men stormed the room. They bashed and smashed their way through the crowds, pushing aside those who still had a handle on their sanity and slamming the door shut on the wild, half-transformed and half-crazed werewolves by knocking them cold. That quieted the place down and Brier stood on stage in front of the bloody and battered crowd.

  “All right, everyone, I warned you. Now follow me to the cells,” he ordered. There was a shout of protests from some of the more self-important individuals. Brier held up his hands and shook his head. “I don’t care if you were the High Lord in a past life. You’re all coming with me.” His eyes pointedly fell on Luke, which meant neither of us would receive mercy from him, so we went with the jail-bird flow

  21

  Everyone in the room, conscious and unconscious, was rounded up and marched double-file out of the room. Luke and I were no exception. We were marched out into the lobby and one of the Protectors opened the large, dungeon-like door to the right of the entrance. The door opened to a narrow, winding stone staircase with stone walls on either side. We prisoners, who numbered three dozen, were led single-file down the steps. This staircase had real torches that sprinkled ash down on us and cast shadows on the rough, unfinished walls. Luke kept close behind me and caught me when I tripped on the uneven steps.

  The winding stairs led to a long, damp, narrow room that stretched out for fifty yards. Along the right wall were a dozen ten-by-ten foot cells with gray-colored bars on all sides. I’d never seen a dungeon cell, and now I got a great view of the inside. The men and women were separated to keep a bad situation from getting worse, and we girls were shoved into the first cell closest to the stairs. Luke was put in a cell several blocks down, but I could feel his eyes on me.

  I sighed, but nearly jumped out of my skin when I heard a terrible scream. My head whipped over to one of the far cells where a scuffle erupted. The men jostled and shoved each other, and they screamed every time a bare patch of skin collided with the bars. Smoke arose from their burnt flesh and filled the air with the ghastly smell of Kentucky Fried Werewolf. I glanced at my own ba
rs, and realized the gray color was more than just a good shine. The bars were forged from solid silver. I and the rest of the women took a few healthy steps back from them while Brier’s men rushed down to stop the fighting werewolves from scorching each other alive.

  The blood all over me also created a rather cold and uncomfortable situation for me. A distinct draft drifted from the bottom of the stairs and passed over the dried blood all over my clothes, skin, hair, and somehow even under my armpits. Brier paced before the cells and one look from his stern gaze was enough to quiet the rowdy bunch. “I won’t keep you in here for long, but long enough to cool your heals. If I find you in another mess you’ll be down here for the rest of the week.”

  The fool who’d started the brawl stepped up to the front of the bars with that stupid sneer on his face. “We don’t have a week. The voting’s tomorrow,” he told the officer.

  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 th
at 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 tone.

  “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.