Alpha's Claim

by Amelia Hutchins

  “Turn it the fuck off,” I whispered, unable to make my voice come out higher.

  “It’s Jane Doe,” Xavier stated, forcing my eyes to meet his. “Look at her ankle. Braelyn is Jane Doe.”

  I turned, staring at where he was pointing, and flinched. On Braelyn’s ankle was a small, red mark that was easily missed since it had always been cuffed or bound in the later videos. It had been there when she was younger, which is how Xavier had been identifying her. As she’d grown older, he’d found other ways to try identifying her when they’d used the cuff, such as her non-response to pain, unlike ordinary people. It took immense pain before she would struggle against the people torturing her. I shook my head, unable to process what I was seeing.

  Zayne killed the feed as I moved to grab Chaos. I didn’t even know what to say to him since I wasn’t able to process what I’d seen. I’d accused Braelyn of helping Harold, and she’d been his primary victim. Why hadn’t she said anything? Why hadn’t she tried to reach me with the truth?

  “That’s why she was so sad all the time,” Chaos whispered, his eyes swimming with unshed tears. “She tried to hide it and pretend not to be sad, but I sensed it. I caught it once when she was trying to pretend she was happy.” He sniffled, and I frowned at his words.

  I swallowed down the sick feeling as I tried to recall Braelyn ever acting like a victim. “How the fuck did we miss this?” I asked myself, but it was Chaos who answered.

  “You had to watch her when she didn’t think you were. Fear is an emotion, and so is pain. We control our emotions, and only we allow people to see them.” He handed me a phone, and I stared at it. “I saw it because she seemed sad, but she’s Braelyn. She is only sad when no one watches her. I put my phone where she didn’t know I was watching. It recorded her, but it was fast.”

  I blinked as Chaos nodded at the phone. Zayne took it, hooking up the cord to the monitor, and then flipped through the images on the screen. Chaos’s phone was filled with photos of him and Brae doing silly things, which tugged at my heart. Then a video began playing.

  Chaos was talking to Brae, and a broad smile played on her full mouth. She turned, eyeing the other kids before laughing. Chaos grabbed a radio, watching Brae, who stared after the other kids rushing away to play with the ball they’d been kicking. Train Wreck, by James Arthur, started playing, and she slowly turned to stare at the moon.

  I watched the video, aimed at her face, obvious that Chaos had left it sitting somewhere it wouldn’t be noticed. Braelyn’s eyes swam with silent tears, sliding that Nordic blue gaze to where Chaos had chased after the ball. Her face changed, revealing the pain she never showed.

  It wasn’t just the pain in her eyes or the way she opened her mouth to scream silently, slapping her hands over her mouth. It was agony, soul-deep suffering she’d let no one know existed. Her chest shook as she continued holding in her scream. It wasn’t until someone approached her from behind that she dropped her hands, and her face went neutral, and vacant eyes peered up at the moon. Braelyn controlled her emotions, easily turning off the anguish ripping her apart from within at what she’d endured. Her mask was effortlessly in place, with no tears having escaped.

  “Did you see that?” Sian asked. “I’ve seen that look before on her. The vacant stare that made me assume she was cold.”

  “I saw it, too,” I admitted, swallowing past the lump in my throat. “It’s the same way she looked when she rejected me. It was like she had no emotion and had just turned it all off, so she didn’t have to feel. If Braelyn is Jane Doe, it means her father tortured her from when she was a child. He tried to break her, and she refused to shatter—and we fucking missed it. We asked her repeatedly, ‘What pain would a pampered princess ever know?’”

  “And she’d replied carefully, ‘Don’t throw rocks at glass palaces because they hide the ugliest monsters.’ We missed it,” Eryx whispered.

  “We fucked up,” I muttered. “We assumed without evidence that Braelyn was involved with Harold, and the entire time, she was another victim. I painted her into a fucking monster to her pack, and even with everything she’d endured and the way they treated her before she left, she still ensured they would survive. Braelyn has every right to hate us. Fuck, I fucking hate myself now. I’m her mate, and I never even sensed she was hurting. The weeks she went missing, I assumed she was dealing with pack shit, but she had been healing from the sick bastard intending to breed with his daughter.”

  “We fucked up big time,” Eryx agreed, blowing out a deep breath.

  Phenrys entered the room, peering around as he placed a thumb drive on the table. I didn’t even look down as he searched my face. Sian filled him in on what he’d missed, and I watched him sit, only to miscalculate the chair and land on the floor. Phenrys rose, shaking his head, and nodded at the drive. Zayne grabbed it, searching my face.

  “I’m not sure how much more shit I can take tonight,” I warned, watching as Zayne stepped to the TV, removing the cord from the phone and pushing the thumb drive into the USB port. The video began, and Brae’s image came on the screen. “Where is this?” I asked, watching as she cupped her ear, trying to hear the guy leaning over the bar.

  “Calgary, Canada. The video was time-stamped two days ago. The person who tipped us off said it was on them and that they owed you one. They said you’d sent someone back home to them, and they were returning the favor,” Phenrys announced. “Her own father? Jesus Christ.”

  “Get the Blackhawk ready and clear permission to enter Canadian airspace,” I swallowed, searching the faces around the table. “Sian, I want you here. I want the pack to know I cleared Braelyn of any wrongdoing. Scratch that; this is my mistake. I’ll talk to them. Call in the alphas, and show them the video, but just the part where they can see it’s her, not anything else. I turned her people against her, and she didn’t deserve that. I need to fix it. Cole, you’re coming with me. She hasn’t seen you yet, nor will she know who the hell you are. She’ll run from us, and I don’t fucking blame her. Eryx, Zayne, and Bowen, you’re all with me. Everyone else, we will be back.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Braelyn

  Stepping out of the shower, I peered around the small cramped room. It was hardly big enough to turn around in, but it was clean. We’d rented a new apartment in a high traffic area, close to work, once we’d noticed the wolves around the one Douglas had chosen for us. It would have been more dangerous to be around wolves, especially considering Saint had left me in a precarious condition.

  I dressed in a pair of soft, stretchy jeans and pulled the camisole top over my sensitive breasts. Turning sideways in the cramped room, I looked at the gentle swell of my belly in the mirror. It was noticeable now and hard to hide that I was pregnant. Groaning, I grabbed the sweater and slipped my arms into it, shoving my hair into a messy bun before I left the room.

  The stale scent of takeout food made my nose itch, hating that it wasn’t the fresh food we’d had on the mountain. I missed the mountain and the protection it would have offered me in my current condition. I hated waking up every morning and going to bed every night, still worrying about the pack.

  “We have twenty minutes to get to the bar, and you already know Jackson is going to be there, pissy as per usual.” Toralei came into the front room, the largest in the house since the tiny kitchen with a stove and mini-fridge was only a twinge larger than the bathroom.

  “I’m ready to go,” I announced.

  “Did you take your vitamins? Did you eat?” She mothered me, which was endearing, if not bothersome.

  “Yes, mother! I also took the edibles that you left in the cupboard, and we’re both pleased with the herbal mixture!” I wiggled my brows, smirking at how her mouth hung open with horror burning in her eyes.

  “You did not!” she stated, horrified at my singsong tone before rushing into the tiny alcove to open the one cupboard in the apartment. “That isn’t even funny!”

  “It was, b
ut then you didn’t see the absolute look of horror on your face. I love you, and I love that you worry about the babe and me, but we’re fine. I took my vitamins, and I ate two apples and some scrambled eggs. We’re good, Tora. Stop mothering me. Everything is okay,” I chided, slipping on my thick coat and kissing her cheek. “Now, let’s go before Jackson fires us both, and we end up needing a smaller apartment.”

  “I don’t think they get much smaller than this,” Tora grumped, hiding her edibles before grabbing her coat.

  Outside, I peered up at the bright blue sky, fighting a smile as the air bit at my exposed cheeks. It was freezing, yet still beautiful. The bitter cold in the air reminded me of home, and I missed sitting in front of the fireplace, lost in an amazing story as the snow fell outside the window of the lodge’s library.

  Passing Mrs. Peterson, I paused, moving to where she was struggling with the heavy snow mucking up the sidewalk. Her husband, Tommy, as he preferred to be called, was disabled, leaving her to do most of the heavy lifting. Grabbing the shovel from her, I smiled against the wind that whipped my hair in my face.

  “I’ll do it, Angela. Let me help,” I offered, watching her soft blue eyes crinkle in the corners.

  “You girls, I don’t know how I managed before you moved in here,” she admonished, curling her arms over her chest to stave off the chilled afternoon air.

  “Give me that, Brianna,” Tora snapped, grabbing the shovel. I turned, frowning at my new name, still unused to it even after three and a half months of hearing it. “You, go stand by Angela and shoot the shit. You’re not supposed to be doing such things in your condition.”

  “I’m pregnant, not disabled,” I argued. I allowed Tora, or Tori as I now called her, to take the shovel from me.

  “Back in my day, pregnancy wasn’t an excuse not to work. Nowadays, you’d think they believed you were breakable. People act like you will melt and wilt if you do a darn thing by yourself,” Angela scoffed, smiling at the way Tora glared at her over her shoulder while making quick work of the sidewalk.

  “Tori’s a mother bear for certain,” I chuckled, watching her finish the sidewalk, handing the shovel back so that we could hurry off to the bar. “Have a nice evening, Mrs. Peterson. Tell Tommy hello for us,” I called back, and Toralei grabbed my arm as I moved over a slick part of the sidewalk.

  “Watch where you’re walking,” Toralei groaned.

  “You are going to be an amazing daddy, Tora,” I laughed, watching her eyes widening at my statement.

  We entered the bar with one minute to spare. Both of us quickly clocked in and started taking the chairs down from the tables, setting up for the regulars who lived for the few hours they got between home and the bar after long hours of work.

  The Hub was a dive bar that had a lot of regulars. Some people just popped in to see what the atmosphere was like before moving next door to the more boisterous club with loud pop music playing and flashing lights that offered seizures and fun. I preferred this side of the club. The country music reminded me of home, and the regulars were gruff, rough men.

  I grabbed glasses from the shelf and placed them into the ice Jackson had poured into a bin for them to chill. He smiled, dropping his soft gray gaze to my belly. Jackson was refreshing but very human and in his early forties. He’d started The Hub with money he’d earned from serving in the armed forces overseas, then opening up his own private security company. The Hub, however, was his dream job.

  “How are we feeling, momma?” he asked, causing a smile to play at the corners of my mouth.

  “Great, but ask me again at closing time, and I’m sure the answer will be, exhausted,” I laughed, moving around him to chill some of the whiskey I knew would be served tonight.

  It wasn’t an awful job, and it was off the beaten path, meaning few otherworld beings would come in for a visit. I was doing well at learning to blend in, and we appeared human enough to pass as one of them.

  I’d learned early on after arriving here that people didn’t care where you came from or your history. No one asked about our past, commented on our height, or that we spoke with a slight accent because everyone else here did too. It was a beautiful, chaotic mixture of varying races.

  “If you need a break, Brianna, let me know. We’ll cover the slack,” Jackson stated, nodding at his girlfriend. “Katie and I don’t mind you getting off your feet. You work harder than most of the lazy pricks I’ve hired over the years, and we don’t want you burning out.”

  “Thanks, but I prefer to stay busy. It keeps my mind off life, and for a dive bar, this place is pretty cozy,” I admitted.

  Jackson’s hands moved over his heart, and a roguish smile covered his lips. “Never call it such, Daisy Dame,” he laughed. “I better go fix the jukebox before Floyd gets here and starts beating it again.”

  “He does love his music,” I muttered, turning my attention to the door as it opened.

  Royce and Bryce, regulars at the bar, entered, shaking the snow from their jackets as they removed them. Grabbing a pitcher, I tipped it to fill for them and took the $20 bill he placed on the bar, breaking it into change for them to play pool. Once they headed off, I started mixing the drinks we’d serve for the special.

  People began filing in as the clock ticked on, and the music got more boisterous. I’d finished mixing the drinks for a group of women who were slumming it, their words, not mine. Jackson worked beside me, moving through the orders for the kitchen while I focused on the drinks.

  I was pouring another pitcher of beer when the doors opened, and a man entered. My senses screamed in warning, and I slowly ran my gaze over his form. He didn’t smell like a shifter or the undead. In fact, he didn’t smell like anything, yet my hackles were up screaming in warning.

  The man was tall. He was at least six inches over my height of six feet in the flat boots I wore. A tattoo started above one eyebrow, wrapping around it to vanish into his hairline. It looked sexy on him, where I wouldn’t have thought a face tattoo would on anyone. His eyebrow was pierced, along with his lower lip. He wore a suit vest but skipped wearing the jacket.

  Sinfully dark blue eyes slid to mine, and I watched in silence as he approached. Placing his coat into the empty chair beside him, he rolled up his white sleeves, revealing tattoos that covered his forearms, all the way down to his knuckles.

  “Afternoon, beautiful,” he said smoothly, revealing sparkling white teeth. His lip curled up farther on one side than the other, noticing that I was checking him out. “What’s good here, other than the company?”

  I snorted, rolling my eyes at the cockiness he oozed. “The pale ale or the Cedar Creek Brewery ale that’s on tap is good.”

  “Which one do you prefer?” he asked, searching my face as his tongue played with the ring on his lip. His stare was hypnotizing. I inhaled his scent, stifling a moan as I tried to pinpoint his breed. He smelled intoxicatingly addictive, darkness mixed with masculinity and a hint of citrus.

  “I haven’t tried either of them,” I admitted, watching him closely.

  His tongue slid back into his mouth as he frowned, leaning back to tap the bar. “You said they were good, but you don’t know if either taste like piss or not?”

  “I won’t be able to tell you that for a few more months… I didn’t catch your name,” I stated, tilting my head.

  “Cole. Pretty girls get to be on a first-name basis with me. You’re not from around here, are you?” he asked, ignoring my comment about not being able to drink.

  “Very observant. I’m from a small fishing village in Norway. It’s the accent that’s throwing you, isn’t it?” I asked, pouring him both types of beer and placing them in front of him to decide which he wanted.

  “Damn, you’re far from home, aren’t you? Come here alone, or is the dad here, too? Most men bail the moment they figure out they placed a bun in the oven these days. Assholes don’t realize how lucky they are.”

  I laughed, shaking my head at
his bluntness. “He’s not in the picture. He wouldn’t have run away, though. I just didn’t find out before I left, so he’s unaware of our bun cooking.”

  “You intend to tell him?” Cole asked, frowning.

  “Eventually,” I stated.

  “Brianna, when you get a moment, refill?” Floyd asked, holding his empty pitcher up. I nodded, moving toward him to refill it. Marking it down on the paper for the tab, I turned as the door opened and more men entered.

  “Something wrong, Brianna?” Jackson asked, and I smiled, covering up the nervousness rushing through me.

  “I’m fine, just got flushed for a moment,” I answered. Rubbing the back of my neck, I watched the new group make their way to a table. I always got nervous when I caught the scent of wolves entering the bar.

  Unclaimed females typically became a target, and though I’d been claimed, Saint’s scent had faded. It left me open to becoming a target to young wolves that didn’t know any better. One wolf alone wouldn’t be an issue, but add a few and my condition, and it could be a huge problem. Toralei slid in beside me, sensing the same thing I had.

  “Locals?” she asked, her body shielding mine defensively.

  “Probably,” I answered, stepping away from her to return to Cole. “Did you pick one?”

  “The Cedar Creek was nice.” He turned to watch as the group of men moved toward the bar. “Not friends of yours?” he asked, slowly moving his gaze back to meet mine.

  “Not yet,” I chuckled as he chewed the piercing, giving me a dazzling smile. “So, Cole,” I started pouring his beer while holding his stare. “Are you from around here?”

  “No, I’m from the States. I’m up here on business. My friend lost something, and I came up to help him retrieve it.”

  “Must be important to come all the way up here to get it back,” I muttered.

  “He thinks so, but then he probably should have figured that out before he lost it. Men, though, right? They tend to realize they fucked up after the fact, more often than not.”