Alpha Daddy

by Ava Sinclair

  “I’ll be right outside, if you need me,” Sabine said. “So if you feel the least bit dizzy getting out, please call.”

  Carly offered her heartfelt thanks as the older woman quietly left the room. As the door clicked behind Sabine, Carly looked around the roomy bath, noting the elegant stand sink, the frosted glass of the huge shower stall with multiple spray heads, the stack of fluffy towels on the built-in shelves. Like what she’d seen of the house so far, this room was well-designed. It was a comfortable house, and Carly was struck by sad nostalgia as she realized the rustic elegance was similar to what she and her adoptive father had envisioned for the lodge they’d planned to build.

  She felt a twinge in her arm—a reminder of the awful experience that had brought her here. Carly lifted it from where it rested on the side of the tub and undid the fastener on the bandage that wound from the middle below her elbow to the top of her bicep. She winced as she removed the wrapping and dropped it on the floor.

  She’d been lucky, indeed. Only the tops of the scratches had required stitches, and the marks were shallow lower down, and close to healing now. The soreness in her arm came mainly from bruising. Her bicep was greenish purple, but she imagined it must have been quite impressive right after the attack. The rest of her body ached, too; as she’d gotten into the tub, she’d noticed the other bruises on her hips and legs from where the bear had slung and tossed her. If the wolves hadn’t come, it would have been worse. If the wolves had attacked…

  Lakota. He must have scared them off, but where had he come from? She closed her eyes, trying to piece together what had happened in a way that might make sense to her rational mind. She could not, and decided that perhaps the hazy memory was a gift in its own way. Carly had always taken solace in the wilderness; she wasn’t about to let one freak incident kill her dreams of hiking on the land or eventually building the planned nature center.

  She turned her head at the sound of a soft rap on the door.

  “You okay in there?” Sabine’s voice came from the other side.

  Carly pulled herself up from her reclining position and reached for the shampoo. “I’m fine,” she called back. “Almost finished!”

  She washed her hair as she looked out the window, noting that the view from here was also of the same wild forest, with just a thin ribbon of rough road snaking through the trees. This place was off the beaten path, and deeper into the wilderness than the property she now owned. So what had the man who’d saved her been doing there, on her land?

  Carly rinsed her hair, deciding that she’d find no answers sitting in the tub, no matter how luxuriating the jets of water felt against her skin. It was easier getting out than getting in. And when she emerged from the bathroom a few moments later, freshly clean and clad in a terrycloth robe, she found Sabine waiting with cookies and hot cider.

  “Feel better?”

  “Remarkably so,” Carly said, and it was no lie. The soreness she’d felt with every move seemed to have magically dissipated.

  Sabine looked pleased as she beckoned Carly to sit in a chair by the roaring fire. “I may work in traditional medicine, but I prefer indigenous cures. I infused your bath with some essential oils from healing herbs that grow in the nearby meadows—chamomile, comfrey, and a few you’ve not even heard of. That and a dash of magnesium and some Epsom salt works wonders.” She handed Carly a steaming mug. “And for an added boost, I’ve put some herbs in your cider. You’ll be feeling like yourself again in no time.”

  “That will be nice,” Carly said, and then paused. “I do appreciate everything you’ve done. But I hope Lakota will take me back when he returns. And no offense, but I don’t plan to answer to him about what I was doing in the woods, even if he did save me. I had my reasons for being out there.”

  Sabine settled in the chair across from Carly, who was conscious now of the other woman’s stare.

  “Lakota is very protective,” Sabine said.

  “That’s nice,” Carly replied. “But I’m not some damsel in distress. I mean, maybe I was. But not now. Besides, what happened to me out there—and I’m not even clear on all the details—was an anomaly. Bears and wolves don’t behave the way those animals did… I can’t see it happening again. So he doesn’t need to worry. I’ll happily pay for the care I received here, but I don’t owe him anything else beyond that, and gratitude.”

  She returned her attention back to her mug, satisfied that she’d made her case as politely as she could.

  “That will be for you and him to settle,” Sabine said. “Lakota’s judgment on these matters is good, and if he’s concerned, it’s for a reason. He’s quite wise, really. If he weren’t, we’d not defer to him.” She paused. “You should listen to him, Carly. Not all of what lives in these wild places can be learned from a book.”

  Carly bit her lip to keep from saying more. She could see the Native American influence in the beautiful face of the woman across from her, had seen it in her brother and son. She knew that the natives had different perceptions regarding man’s relationship to nature, but as a trained biologist, Carly believed those were perceptions based more in myth than any scientific reality. However, she wasn’t about to insult her kind hostess by arguing, so she changed the subject.

  “This is such an amazing house,” she said. “If you don’t mind my asking, what are you guys doing out here? It seems kind of remote.”

  “It is remote,” Sabine agreed. “I work as a traveling nurse in some of the surrounding villages. I make rounds to assist the clinicians when they visit, so it’s not fulltime. Lakota is an artist. He makes functional birch canoes and is also a scrimshaw artist. His work is really quite sought after. When he goes into town, it’s for several days at a time and he makes the rounds at all the galleries either filling or taking orders. My son Sam started working as his apprentice after his father died.” She fell quiet. “It’s been good for him.”

  Sadness filled Sabine’s face, and Carly felt a twinge of sympathy, but declined to ask for details that weren’t being offered. After Doc Fowler’s death, more people than she’d cared to count had pressed her for details.

  “I’m sorry for your loss,” Carly said, and Sabine nodded and stood, her voice tight as she spoke.

  “Thank you,” she said with a slight sniff, then gestured to the mug of cooling cider in Carly’s hands. “You’ll need to finish that while it’s still warm; that’s when the herbs are their most potent.” She picked up her own empty mug and walked toward the kitchen, leaving Carly sitting by the fire, still curious about the people who’d saved her, and about what would happen next.

  Chapter Five

  “You shouldn’t have those things jammed in your head like that.”

  Lakota reached over and tugged one of the earbuds out of his nephew’s ears. “I could be having a conversation with you and you’d not even know it.”

  Sam pushed the earbud back in place and smirked at his uncle. “I could hear you over the music and you know it.” He turned and looked out the window. “Besides, the music helps drown out the other sounds…”

  As Lakota turned his eyes back to the road, he reached out and gave his nephew’s broad shoulder a reassuring squeeze. He knew it was more than just sounds Sam was trying to drown out. The younger man was also trying to drown out his feelings with the music he loved. It had been a hard year since Caine’s death. Sam had idolized his father.

  “Dad said when he first started shifting, it was the sense of smell that used to linger for him.” Sam turned back to Lakota. “He said there was this one time he was at a dance trying to start a conversation with a girl and he complimented her on her perfume because it smelled like lilies. She gave him this weird look and said she wasn’t wearing any perfume like that, but her sister was. And Dad looked up to see her sister standing clear across the dance hall.” He chuckled. “He’d shifted two days earlier, but said the heightened senses last for days.”

  Lakota smiled sadly at the memory. Caine had told him that
story several times, always laughing when he described how the girl stormed away, insulted.

  “I miss him,” Sam said.

  Lakota sighed. “Me too, Sam. Your dad was a good man…”

  “He was more than a man. And if I ever find the bastard…”

  Lakota slammed the brakes on the truck and pulled over.

  “Don’t start,” he said, staring his nephew down.

  Lakota hated to use his dominant tone to silence Sam, but he had no choice. The sullenness and anger that Lakota had been working to ease were creeping back into his nephew’s voice and he couldn’t have that. Sam was already hotheaded, and the mixture of anger, youthful impetuousness, and the ability to shift could threaten not just his nephew, but the entire pack.

  Sam was looking back at him, and only when Lakota was satisfied at the softness in his nephew’s eyes did he offer a show of accepting the younger man’s submission to his command. He placed a large hand on Sam’s shoulder.

  “One day, we’ll set this right,” he said. “But we can’t be rash. We’ve talked about this before, about your father’s concerns. Tell me, Sam. What was your father’s primary focus?”

  Sam looked away. “Come on, Uncle Lakota…”

  “No,” Lakota said sharply. “Tell me!”

  “It was the pack, on preserving our people, our kind.”

  “And why is that?” Lakota’s heart twisted at his pained look. He wanted to let him off the hook, but knew he couldn’t. “Tell me.”

  “Because we’re so few now,” Sam said miserably.

  “That’s right,” Lakota said. “And if you popped off and died avenging your dad or ended up in jail and shifted there…” His voice trailed off. He could see in Sam’s eyes the same fear he felt. Shifting was an art. Handling the transitions took skill, and extremes in emotion could bring on a shift. Only an experienced shifter could control it, and even then, sometimes…

  “Uncle Lakota, you don’t have to tell me. I know.” Sam paused. “I’m sorry. I know you don’t need anything else to worry about. You’ve got other things on your mind, especially after what happened with that girl.”

  That girl.

  Carly Fowler been on Lakota’s mind since the day he’d saved her. It had been by chance that they’d seen the bear, and something in the way it had snuffled the air and the ground, growling as it walked, had made Lakota order the others to help him track it. He felt like a hypocrite in some ways, lecturing Sam on the survival of the pack after he’d put them all at risk to save her. But something had told him there was more to the behavior of the grizzly than met the eye. And now that he knew the identity of the girl, he was convinced that finding her had been fate.

  “So what are you going to do about her?” Sam’s question got his attention. “I mean, if she remembers what happened, what she saw…”

  Lakota fell silent. Only a few of the pack leaders knew that Miles Fowler had known the secrets of the Sourwood pack, or how it had impacted the kindly researcher’s decision to track down and adopt a little girl from a remote Alaskan orphanage nearly eight years earlier. He’d kept this information from Sam until he could figure out how to handle things.

  “She’s a biologist,” Lakota said. “I don’t think she saw me shift. If she did, she’ll tell herself it was a hallucination. As for what I’m going to do about her…” He thought about how light she’d felt in his arms, how pale her face had been, her lashes long and dark against her cheeks. She’d whimpered as Lakota had pulled her to his chest and the surge of protectiveness he’d felt was not something he’d ever felt for a human. Even now, he tried to tell himself it was just a residual animal instinct held over from the transition, like a heightened sense of smell or scent. But then he saw her in his mind’s eye as she’d been that morning, small and vulnerable under the blanket, and even that mental image evoked the same strong feeling. You can’t blame it on shifting now, buddy.

  “It’s going to be fine, Sam. She’ll get mended and once we make sure she’s safe, we’ll get her back to where she belongs. But that can’t happen until we make sure she’s safe from Bear. Until then, she stays with us.”

  Sam countered. “She’s a Norm,” Sam said, using the term their kind used to describe normal people. “Once she’s back where she belongs, she will be safe.”

  “Yeah,” Lakota said, but couldn’t keep the doubt out of his voice. If his suspicions were right about the attack on Carly Fowler, she’d be no safer in the city than in the wilderness.

  Chapter Six

  He would not let it happen again.

  He could not let it happen again.

  He controlled Bear. He could not let Bear control him.

  It was rage that had summoned Bear. He should have known better than to go to the house while still agitated from his failure to kill the girl. She’d been right there, and he’d been so close to eliminating the final obstacle to his plan. He’d hit her hard, had seen and smelled blood. But then the wolves had come and interfered in his business. Again.

  They’d chased him until he was off their land. Only then had he slowed to catch his breath, and when he was sure they were no longer following, he’d transitioned back to human form. His shoulder was sore from where the wolf had bitten him. So was his lower leg. But Bear was thick-skinned and the bites hadn’t broken the skin. Still, the memory of it roiled in his belly.

  He should have gone home. He knew that now. Instead, he’d driven to the house that was so familiar to him, the house where Carly’s father had welcomed him before knowing who he truly was. Miles Fowler had been trusting, but once that trust was gone, he’d proved a worthier adversary than Bruce Holder could have ever anticipated. The girl had shown some of her father’s steel when she’d faced Bear, looking him right in the eye as he approached her for what should have been a killing blow.

  Breaking into her home was an act of desperation, his last chance. He hoped he could find something—anything—Miles Fowler may have had alluding to his secret. But just being in her house, smelling the lingering scent of his enemy—it had driven him mad. He remembered falling to the floor, remembered fighting the transition, resisting the spreading of his ribs, the thickening rise of his shoulders to a massive hump, the lengthening of his face to a muzzle, the growth of his teeth as they shifted into the sharp, flesh-ripping weapons of a predator. He’d been unable to stop it, and then Bear had taken over completely without his consent—the first time that had happened since his youth.

  On the trail, when he’d hunted the girl, he’d done so in Bear form, but with Man Mind. But in the house, he found himself helpless to his inner animal as Bear Mind took over. He saw what Bear saw, wanted what Bear wanted. He tore through the room, driven to fury by the human smells. Then he felt hunger, and lumbered into the kitchen, where he ripped the refrigerator door off the hinges, pulling out dishes and packages of lunch meat and containers of yogurt. He ate what he found, leaving wrappers on the floor, and then rose on his hind legs to plunder the cabinets, eating bread and licking honey from a plastic jar he punctured with his teeth.

  After that, he wandered through the rest of the house, ripping apart anything that smelled of the man he hated. There was a trace of the girl’s smell here, proof that she was staying here now. It was strongest in one of the bedrooms; he ripped apart her mattress in a rage. After that, everything went black.

  When he transitioned back, dazed and confused, he was relieved to find himself still in the house. He sat up, facing the destruction wrought by his human rage acted out in animal form. Standing, he walked through the wrecked house until he found the room of his enemy. Carly Fowler had not yet donated her adoptive father’s clothing to charity. She was clinging to his things. Some of the enemy’s clothing was still hanging in his closet. So he donned a pair of trousers and a shirt and then headed back downstairs to retrieve his own tattered garments. He wanted to stay longer, to search for what he’d come for, now that he was back in control. But what if a passerby had glimpsed him throug
h a window? What if the police were already on their way? He couldn’t take the risk.

  He headed out the back door, securing the lock he’d jimmied to get in. The neighborhood was secluded, with large wooded home sites, and he’d parked his car on a lower road and come in through the back yard. He left the same way, hiking down to an access road where his black SUV was still parked.

  He got in, feeling slightly shaken about what he’d done, and promised himself that the next time he changed it would be in the presence of the girl, and that this time, it would be a clean kill.

  Chapter Seven

  How long had it been? If she’d been out for nearly three days, then today would, Carly decided, mark nearly a full week since the attack, a full week since she’d been at the cabin cared for by these interesting strangers.

  In the three days since Lakota had left, she’d discovered that her savior was part of an extended family. During his absence, visitors had drifted in and out, all bearing the same beautiful native features. Today it was two beautiful couples. Milo and Dane were in their twenties and parents to incredibly active twin toddlers, while Sierra and Cliff were in their thirties with a precocious seven-year-old. The others were single men who looked to be a little older than Sam. They breezed in to talk to Sabine, who introduced them as cousins or distant cousins. None of them seemed surprised by Carly’s presence, and she was surprised when the little boy asked her if it had hurt when the bear hit her. It seemed, Carly decided, that everyone in this close-knit group was aware of her situation before they even walked in the door.

  It was late in the afternoon when Lakota and Sam returned. Sabine had been good company, and it had been refreshing for Carly to spend time with someone who seemed to appreciate both her loss and her need to escape the constant reminders of grief. Her recovery had been accelerated with the help of Sabine’s native remedies, and the older woman had taken her to Lakota’s workshop, where Carly marveled over the intricate scrimshaw projects in progress and stared at piles of bleached bones in a corner. Their family hunted for their food, Sabine told her, and used everything. This had given Carly pause; she’d known more than one hunting family, and most of them proudly displayed their weapons. But she’d not seen not one gun here, or a gun safe. She’d not seen so much as a bow, for that matter.