Alpha's Moon: A special forces shifter romance

by Renee Rose

  Alpha’s Moon

  Renee Rose

  Lee Savino

  Copyright © February 2021 Alpha’s Moon by Renee Rose and Lee Savino

  All rights reserved. This copy is intended for the original purchaser of this e-book ONLY. No part of this e-book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without prior written permission from the author. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  Published in the United States of America

  Midnight Romance, LLC

  This e-book is a work of fiction. While reference might be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imaginations or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  This book contains descriptions of many BDSM and sexual practices, but this is a work of fiction and, as such, should not be used in any way as a guide. The author and publisher will not be responsible for any loss, harm, injury, or death resulting from use of the information contained within. In other words, don’t try this at home, folks!

  Contents

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  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Epilogue

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  About Renee Rose

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  Chapter 1

  Puerto Rico

  Deke

  The Puerto Rican jungle is thick and humid. At night, the song of the coquí frogs chorus echo all around the stifling darkness. I creep silently over the rotting leaves on the rainforest floor, slinking into position. Channing’s already there on his belly, squinting through the sight of his sniper rifle.

  “We got two guards on deck,” Channing whispers.

  With our shifter hearing, we don't need comms units to hear each other. Nor do I need night vision goggles. That’s the reason Colonel Johnson created a special ops team composed entirely of shifters. He’s one of us. He knew how much we‘d be capable of when our abilities didn’t have to be hidden from our human counterparts.

  A quick glance, and I clearly see the outline of two cartel members standing in front of the shack’s open door frame. Each of them hold machine guns.

  “What do you think—hostage inside?” Channing murmurs. “Tied, gagged?”

  “Gagged. Tied with rope.” That’s my guess, anyway.

  “Don’t see any dogs,” Channing says. “So we wait for Rafe’s signal.”

  I nod and strip out of my outer clothes, including dog tags. Colonel Johnson had special camo underclothing designed for us. The fabric is stretchy and flexible enough to accommodate both human and wolf form. I guess the army higher ups thought having our ding-dongs hanging out after we shifted back would make us feel vulnerable. Like we give a shit who sees us naked.

  I shift, but try to maintain some control, to hold back my wolf. He’s antsy to get on with the hunt. The sad truth is that after years of war conditioning, he’s always ready for the kill, especially when there’s a civilian rescue involved. The need to protect sometimes overwhelms reason.

  The signal is a long blast on a dog whistle, a sound no human can hear. When it comes, Channing and I dart forward. As a wolf, I’m faster, and I race ahead.

  We're almost there when I pick up a rumbling sound up the road. Trouble coming in the form of an old diesel truck. Fuck! More kidnappers showing up to help stand guard.

  My ears prick at the ear splitting sound of the dog whistle. Two short blasts this time—Rafe telling us to get out.

  I try to turn back. To follow orders. The part of me that still knows chain of command fights for control.

  But my wolf isn’t having it.

  It’s too late—I smell the package. The frightened human who’s perhaps given up on being rescued.

  It’s wrong to disobey a command. We may not be Special Ops any more, but wolves also follow their leader, and Rafe is our alpha. Still, I can’t stop my wolf. He needs to save the human. I bound forward, paws eating up ground as I head toward the shack.

  “Abort mission,” Channing growls, but I'm too far gone. I leap, a silent shadow, onto the wooden platform.

  The first guard dies almost silently. His body thumps to the deck. The other guard whirls, fingers scrambling for the trigger of his machine gun when two hundred plus pounds of wolf lands on him. He goes down, and I silence him with my teeth.

  Permanently.

  I hear shots and raise my head. My muzzle is slick, and there’s blood in my mouth. On the other side of the shack, our team attacks the diesel truck. I forced them into this by not following orders. It’s the only option now.

  A few more shots, a growl from Lance’s wolf, and the sound of screams drowns out the chorus of coquí frogs for a moment. Then the truck engine cuts off, and there’s silence.

  “Goddammit, Deke!” Channing whisper-shouts. He’s still in human form, slinking up to the deck with his rifle outstretched. “You were supposed to follow orders.”

  My wolf bares his teeth at him.

  “Fucking loco,” Channing mutters as he brushes by me. He follows proper protocol, casing each dark corner before entering the shack. A few seconds later, he starts talking in a low, soothing voice to the hostage.

  I’m glad he can because I would scare the hell out of her.

  I growl and turn away, my nose to the ground, making sure all threats have been eliminated.

  Gangsters: dead. Hostage: rescued. Mission accomplished. The only problem? The action was over in less than ninety seconds. My wolf wants more.

  I lope off the deck and around the shack to the diesel truck. There’s blood spattered on the cab and two gang members dead—one in the front seat, one a few feet from the passenger door.

  Lance stands nearby, disassembling the target’s semi-automatics. He’s in his camo underclothing from shifting. His dog tags glint on his bare chest—he didn't have time to remove them before shifting.

  “Fuck, Deke,” he greets me. “I ruined a good pair of khakis for you.” He wrenches the metal gun pieces apart and drops them into an open bag at his feet.

  I make myself useful, loping back up the hill to Lance’s stakeout spot to retrieve his pack. We keep an extra change of clothes for this contingency. Lance hadn’t expected to shift, but to finish the mission, my wolf’s defiance forced him to. My pack brothers always have my back no matter what.

  “Thanks,” Lance grunts when I return. He dresses quickly.

  “Let’s move out. Channing’s already gone with the package.” The package being the hostage. The one we, as mercenaries, were just paid a sizable amount of money to retrieve for someone high up in our governmen
t who didn’t want to risk an active military team on this job. “Rendezvous at HQ.”

  A crackle in the brush behind me announces the arrival of my alpha.

  “What the hell was that, soldier?” Rafe growls at me even though we’re no longer technically soldiers.

  I duck my head in contrition.

  “I think it went well, Sarge,” Lance says mildly before tugging on his shirt.

  “No one fucking asked you.” Rafe points up the hill. “Move out, now.”

  Lance shrugs on his pack and obeys.

  Rafe points to me. “We’re going to talk about this,” he promises.

  Four hours later, we’re back at HQ, an empty airplane hanger. Soon a tiny charter plane will show up to secret us back home. Lance helped me hose off the blood—my wolf was reluctant to remove all traces of its kills. I went for a run first, trying to rid myself of the pent-up energy, waiting until the last possible minute to shift.

  Channing arrives at HQ last and doesn’t bother with the hose. He sticks his head in a bucket of water and then uses a rag to wipe off his face paint. “The package was delivered safely,” he announces. “All’s well that ends well.”

  “Not so fucking fast.” Rafe marches back into the hanger from the outside, where he was taking a call from command. “We’ve got a problem.” My alpha rounds on me and points. “Your wolf is out of control, Deke.” He’s not wrong. I disobeyed a direct order.

  “Yes, Sergeant.” My voice is gravely, guttural, as if my throat is unused to human words. We still call Rafe Sarge even though we’re no longer in the Army.

  “Did you have orders to kill, Deke?”

  A sick feeling roils in my belly. This is why Rafe decided we needed to get out of the service last year. Every hunt, I was becoming more feral. We all were. Rafe said we had to leave before we all lost our humanity and needed to be put down.

  “In Deke’s defense, he only killed the Tangos,” Channing offers.

  Rafe bares his teeth at Channing, who ducks his head and puts up his hands in surrender.

  “We didn’t have kill orders,” Rafe growls.

  “Colonel Johnson wouldn’t contract us if he didn’t expect a body count,” Lance counters.

  “That’s only because Deke’s out of control,” Rafe shouts.

  The weight on my chest increases.

  Fuck.

  Rafe paces, his boots striking the concrete floor in a staccato beat. Rafe can glide silently if he wants to. He’s making noise now to make a point. I brace myself for it.

  It comes all too soon. Rafe stops in front of me and blows on the dog whistle. I stand at attention, fighting not to cringe at the high pitched sound. Channing and Lance snap their hands over their ears.

  “What does that mean, soldier?” Rafe barks at me.

  “All systems go, sir!” I shout back.

  Rafe blows the dog whistle again, two short blasts. “And that?”

  “Abort mission, sir!”

  Rafe gets right in my face, yellow eyes fixed on mine. I stare off in the distance, fighting my wolf’s restless urge to break position and attack.

  This is a test. If I break position and challenge my alpha, it’s a sign I’m way too far gone. Something my pack has been worried about for a couple years now.

  I have to pass this test.

  I force myself to think of puppies. Innocent toddlers. Human females—that’s a new thought, but for some reason it comes to mind. Like I might reward myself for passing this test by seeking out pleasure.

  As if.

  My team won’t let me near humans. Not after that bar fight last year. My wolf is way too aggressive and unpredictable. Too bloodthirsty.

  But the thought of fragile creatures is enough. My wolf relaxes.

  My alpha stands inches away. He senses the change in my body and nods. But he doesn’t let me off the hook.

  “Discipline, soldier,” Rafe growls right in my ringing ear. “It’s all that stands between us and moon madness.”

  I unclench my jaw. “Yes, sir.”

  Chapter 2

  Sadie

  Sadie, are you heading to the plaza? I’ll be there too. Let’s catch up after your girls’ night. The text beeps through on my phone and makes my stomach twist into a dense knot. The message may sound friendly, but it registers in my body as an assault.

  I am so done with Scott Sears and his attempts to win me back.

  What part of “it’s over” did he not get?

  I roll my eyes and shove my phone back in my purse, shifting my ridiculous but precious package back under my arm as I duck through the crowded Taos restaurant after work.

  It’s dinner time on a school night, and while most nights I’d rather go home and chill after teaching kindergarteners all day, it’s Wednesday.

  Whine Wednesday, as me and my girl posse like to call it, and Whine Wednesdays are sacred.

  “Sadie, over here.” Adele waves from her seat at a table on the patio. The knotted muscles in my neck relax a hair when I see her and the rest of my friends. Tabitha and Charlie slouch in their chairs but sit up a little straighter when they see me. Adele remains sitting with her back ramrod straight.

  My friends are the best. We’re all different, but it works.

  Adele’s the polished, always-put-together Creole beauty who owns the local chocolate shop. She’s our mother hen, and always looks perfect in her vintage clothes. Tonight she’s in a 1950s style swing dress, the moss green color perfectly complementing her golden brown skin and green eyes. Instead of a jacket, she wears a shawl in taupe with gold thread. She’s the fancy one in the group, and she owns it.

  Tabitha often wears vintage clothes too, either from the 1920s or 60s and 70s. Somehow she pulls off a sequined flapper dress one day, giant bell bottoms the next. Today she lounges loose-limbed in her chair with a beaded headband and a yellow jumpsuit. Another one of her Cher outfits, and she looks the part with her olive skin and narrow face.

  Charlie is Charlie. She’s the shortest of us and the most fit. Most of the time, I see her in a blue button down shirt and sturdy navy shorts or pants—her post mistress outfit. Her job gives her a perpetual tan that matches her short blond hair. Right now she’s wearing a faded t-shirt that reads “In my defense, I was left unsupervised.”

  And me, I’m just Sadie Diaz, Taos native. Kindergarten teacher, brown eyes, brown hair. Average height, average weight, average everything. Tabitha tells me I dress like a kindergarten teacher, whatever that means. The kids love my kitty earrings and brightly colored ballet flats.

  “Glad you made it,” Charlie smiles at me. She’s already got a margarita in front of her, and I try not to look too jealous.

  “Sorry I’m late,” I say and swing my bag off my shoulder. “I had to pick up a package.”

  Tabitha grimaces at the black toy box I set on the restaurant table. “What the hell is that?” Her voice is loud enough to make several fellow restaurant goers swivel their heads to our table, but she doesn’t care. She leans back, nose wrinkled as she regards the toy.

  I get why she’s making a face. The stuffed toy inside is a cross between a demon and a jackrabbit, with red eyes, antlers and fangs.

  “It’s a jackalope,” I say, my tone apologetic. All three of my best friends lean in to inspect the toy box.

  “Oh I’ve heard of these.” Charlie picks up the box and wrinkles her nose as she reads the back print. “It’s the hottest toy this year. Sold out in most states.”

  “I ordered mine nine months ago,” I admit. “The kids in my class can’t stop talking about it. There are parents willing to commit murder to get one for their kids. That’s why I have it here. It just came in, and I’m not letting it out of my sight.”

  “How does this work? Oh yes.” Charlie pushes a red button marked, Try me! on the clear plastic, and creepy laughter echoes from the box. The monstrous toy shakes, and its red eyes flash. “Don’t you want to play?” it mocks in a voice straight from Poltergeist.

  “
Holy shit!” Tabitha chokes. “What the hell?”

  “Oh, hell no.” Adele shakes her head, so her soft brown curls bounce around her face as she holds up a hand. “That is too creepy.” She shivers and tugs her shawl around her. With the sun going down, it’s getting cool.

  “It is creepy.” I examine the toy more closely. “The first time I pressed the button, I almost dropped the box. And I knew it did that.”

  “Press it again,” Tabitha says with a wicked grin. Adele rolls her eyes.

  “You sure?” Charlie hovers her thumb over the button.

  “Do it,” Tabitha has a maniacal look not unlike the demon jackalope.

  Gritting her teeth, Charlie pushes it. “Don’t you want to play?” a sinister voice whispers from the toy box.

  “Oh!” Adele and Tabitha both cry. “Put it away,” Adele orders. Tabitha looks like she wants to push the button again.

  “Shit,” Charlie says emphatically and places the box at arm’s length away from her on the table. “Kids really like to play with this stuff?”

  I shrug.

  “Kids these days,” Adele says, straightening her silverware beside the empty place where her plate will go for the fifth time. “Way more into scary stuff than I ever was.”

  “At least it’s not baby Cthulhu. Those were super in last year,” I say. The waitress bustles up with her tray full of our drinks, and I take the toy and carefully set the box back in my bag.

  “So you got one for your class?” Adele asks.

  “Yeah. Only one, so they’ll have to share.”