Alpha Assassins Guild: (Complete Series: Books 1-5)

by Juniper Leigh

  Rowan must have seen her shifting back and forth, trying to determine what to do with herself, and he spared her by reaching in front of her and opening the passenger’s side door for her, gesturing her for her to climb in. Rowan and Winnie would then be relegated to the back.

  But maybe that’s what Rowan wanted? Winnie had flirted with him a little. Viola tried to squelch the pang of jealousy she felt somewhere in the vicinity of her silent chest cavity. Stupid heart, barely speaking up at all.

  They drove in silence, the air thick with nerves. There was a very real possibility that the three of them would be seen as traitors, usurpers, a danger to the clan system as it stood. And, to an extent, they were: they were trying to displace everyone who had any power in the clan systems, all in the name of peace. But could they hold that peace?

  When the truck pulled to a stop, Rowan glanced around, dubious. “Where is this place? Is it literally a fucking cave?” But Graham didn’t dignify his question with a response, simply led the group through the trees and into the small cave with recessed lighting that led to an elevator that would take them down into the dwelling.

  They were quite the odd assemblage of people: the Alpha of Clan Ursus, the Alpha of the rival Clan Felidae, and the most powerful shifter the world had ever seen, none of whom were wearing shoes when they crossed through the central quarter of the Dwelling, past the waterfall and into Graham’s private chambers. Winnie had excused herself to visit with friends and relatives who had taken up temporary residence at the Dwelling, and the three of them were alone again, this time in rather more lavish surroundings.

  “I need a title,” Viola said, crossing straight through the bedroom with all its odd implications, and into the den where she lingered suggestively near the minibar.

  “What do you mean, a title?” Rowan asked.

  “Well, you are both Alphas,” she explained. “But what am I?”

  “The All-Shifter,” Graham said, brushing past her to pour everyone a glass of whiskey, never mind that it was only about eleven o’clock in the morning.

  “That sounds like I’m some sort of Norse God,” she protested, reaching out to curl her fingers around the crystal tumbler and wetting her lips with the warm, tingling taste of fine liquor.

  “I have to agree with her, Graham,” Rowan said, waving off the offered drink. “Vodka, if you have it.”

  Graham arched a brow but ultimately obliged and passed him what he asked for. Graham, of course, stuck with the whiskey.

  “There are no windows here,” Rowan noted, and shuddered exaggeratedly. “And we’re underground.” Rowan sipped from his drink. “I feel like I’m in a grave.”

  “Not yet,” Graham remarked rather darkly before taking a seat on the sofa and propping his feet up on the coffee table. Viola smiled a bit to see him relaxing, and she took a seat beside him in the hopes that some of his calm might radiate off of his skin and seep into her.

  Rowan was taking it all in with something of a critical eye, noting with relative distaste that everything was made of wood or natural fibers. Not a shred of metal or glass to be seen; nothing was sleek, nothing shined. He loathed it utterly. “Do you even have the Internet down here?” he demanded. “Cell reception?”

  “Yes, Mr. Weaver,” Graham said, “we aren’t troglodytes.”

  “Well, that’s a relief. Where can I watch the news? I feel completely cut off from everything important about the world.”

  Graham sighed irritably and leaned forward, clicking a button on a remote control that lowered a flat-screen television into view from a panel embedded in the wall. “What’s your channel of choice, Mr. Weaver?” he asked as the screen flickered to life, depicting a commercial for dishwashing fluid where a woman with a vapid, dimpled smile displayed a Pyrex baking dish that boasted a streak-free shine. Rowan sat down on the other side of Viola and smiled, giving another wave of his hand. “Never mind,” he said, “I don’t need to watch it now.”

  Graham smirked, wise to the fact that he was just being tested to see how fancy his Clan Headquarters were compared to Clan Felidae’s. It was something a technological pissing contest; Viola rolled her eyes.

  “Tell me, Mr. Weaver,” Graham said, leaning forward to peer at Rowan past Viola, “exactly how much floor space does Clan Felidae devote to holding cells for hundred-and-ten-pound women?”

  “Only one floor out of thirty-seven in our shoreline high-rise,” Rowan replied, grinning.

  “Now, boys, you’re both pretty,” Viola said, agitated, and rose to her feet to refill her glass.

  “I’m prettier,” Rowan said with a roguish grin, and he tossed the remainder of his vodka into the back of his throat.

  “What are we going to say to everyone?” Viola asked, trying to veer the conversation in a productive direction.

  “We need to show them that we are together, uniting the clans, looking toward a prosperous future,” Graham said plainly.

  “Sure, but what does that look like?” Rowan asked. “And what am I supposed to tell my council about the murder of the clan Alpha?”

  “You need to tell them that it was your idea,” Graham said. “It’ll make things easier.”

  “If you honestly think I am going to get up there and lie to my people, you are seriously mistaken,” Rowan snapped. “And what’s more, they would have expected me to fight him in my true form, not shoot him in the face with a gun.”

  “We didn’t shoot him in the face, we shot him in the gut, and furthermore, if you’re serious about brokering this peace, you’ll do what I tell you to do.”

  “Serious? I let you murder my father, you sanctimonious prick.”

  “Guys—” Viola tried to interject, but Rowan was already on his feet.

  “And furthermore,” he said, green eyes flaring with fury, “what right do you have to boss me around?”

  Graham rose to his feet, finishing off the whiskey in his glass before deigning to respond. “I’m the Alpha of Clan Ursus, and you’re a guest in my home, and this was all my idea. Would you like me to go on?”

  “I think someone needs to put you in your place, old man,” Rowan hissed, tugging his shirt off over his head.

  “Old man?” Graham echoed, laughing so that his dimples showed. “I’m like two years older than you.” But Rowan wasn’t listening; he was relieving himself of his new jeans. “Seriously?” Graham said and heaved a sigh, tugging his shirt off as well.

  Rowan shifted into panther form just as Graham shimmied out of his pants and shifted into bear form, and Viola was watching the entire thing, nonplussed. Funny how the strangest things seemed suddenly routine. Rowan circled Graham, who was easily four times his size, trying to find the best way to attack.

  Viola rolled her eyes and poured herself another glass. “This isn’t going to solve anything,” she said, but it apparently fell on deaf ears, because Rowan sprang forward into Graham’s side and sank his teeth into the meaty part just below his rib cage. Graham let out a great bellow and swiped his great paw at Rowan, sending him flying across the room, taking out an expensive-looking chess table as he went.

  “God, would you stop it?” Viola yelped and placed herself bodily in between the two men, holding up her arms to keep them apart. “This is ridiculous. And if it doesn’t stop right this instant, I will leave, and then your plans will fall entirely apart and everything that’s happened will be for nothing.”

  The great Kodiak bear, all brown and black, huffed through its nose and sat back on its hind quarters, while the beautiful, sleek panther righted itself and licked at the back of its shining black paw.

  “Rowan,” she went on, “I know you’re angry, and I know this is a very confusing time. And I’m sorry for the part I played in your sorrow. I am. Genuinely. I love you, and I never wanted to hurt you. I’m just trying to find a way through this, for everyone. I want the killing to stop. Don’t you understand? I want it to stop.”

  She turned her eyes then on Graham, the great bear, and peered up into
his warm, honey-brown eyes. “And Graham, you need to make some room for the rest of us. You’ve been driving this plot forward on your own for so long that you haven’t stopped to understand that you’re not alone, that you don’t have to tackle any of this alone, and that maybe our ideas will help you, and maybe the three of us together really are the best option for all of our kind. I fell for you that first night we were together, and loving you makes all of this so much more complicated because I can’t just be your symbol. Okay?” She turned her head side to side, flanked by these two great creatures, her heart’s two loves, and she sank into a lean against the back of the sofa. “I can’t be just a symbol. I can’t represent something I don’t feel with my whole heart, my whole body. I love the both of you, and you both just need to find a way to deal with that.”

  She dropped her hands to her side then and allowed her gaze to fall to the floor at her feet. Finally, her heart had spoken. She just hadn’t anticipated that her mouth would speak so soon thereafter. One man shifted, then the other, and she realized that there was a sound that accompanied the physical shift: like bone against bone, or the crinkling of cartilage. It was unsettling, but quiet enough, the whisper of paper sent to scatter on the floor by a rustling wind.

  Graham reached her first, sliding his fingers along the line of her jaw so that he might draw her into a kiss. And she kissed him back, hungry like she’d been wandering for years and had only just come home. But it was Graham that broke the kiss, Graham that looked over at Rowan, who was standing timidly on the sidelines, watching.

  Viola turned to look at him as well, and she held a hand out for him. He approached and took her hand, kissing her, too, with Graham’s hand still poised on the gentle curve of her hip. Rowan was sweet, familiar, a long-standing friendship that made him easy to kiss. Graham was new, thrilling, that first rushing wave of romance that made him bubble with excitement in the heart of her.

  It was Graham’s fingers that she felt brush over her breast; it was Rowan’s tongue gently probing past the barrier of her lips. It was Graham who slid Viola’s leggings down to the floor, and it was Rowan who reached up beneath the thin fabric of her tee shirt to unclasp her bra. It was Graham’s hardness that she felt pressed against her bottom; Rowan’s she felt at her front.

  But she turned then and pressed her hands against Graham’s chest and kissed him with a rising fervor, even as Rowan’s insistent fingers pushed aside the flimsy black lace of her panties to find her sex slick with wanting. Brazen, he thrust his middle finger into her warm, waiting orifice and a groan caught itself in her throat. Graham broke away from her and tugged her bra and tee shirt off over her head, and there they were, the three of them, with a pair of black lace panties as the only article of clothing any were wearing. But not for long, as Rowan was frustrated with anything that would bar his entrance.

  After a moment, Rowan withdrew his finger and licked it clean before tugging Viola by the wrist to get her down onto the woven rug on the floor beneath their feet. She laid herself down, and Graham lay down at her side, bending his neck to take one of her pert nipples between his lips. He flicked his tongue over it and she arched her back in response, just as Rowan was positioning himself on the floor between her thighs. He helped her to get her legs into the right spot, with knees bent and folded out so that they were winged to either side.

  Graham reached around her bottom and inserted two fingers into her, sliding them easily in with how slippery she’d gotten as her desire grew. Rowan used his fingers to spread apart her nether lips before pressing his tongue to the engorged kernel of her clitoris. A throaty moan rang out in the room around them, and Viola squirmed: Graham suckling at her nipple, his fingers thrust deep into her, while Rowan flicked his tongue in rapid little motions over the pith of her pleasure. She could feel Graham’s erection, strained and insistent, against her leg as he worked his fingers in and out of her, careful not to brush Rowan’s chin as he lapped at her clit. “Oh, God,” she whispered, desperate for her release to sweep over her. “Please…”

  But her prayer was never heard, because a rap on the door to Graham McCallum’s chamber made them all freeze where they lay.

  “Yes?” Graham said, hovering still just over the swell of her breast.

  “Mr. McCallum?” came a voice through the thick wooden door. “Everyone is gathered, sir. They’re all waiting.”

  “Thank you,” Graham said, “We’ll be out presently.”

  The three of them glanced at one another before breaking into a series of frustrated laughs and a few groans, and they reluctantly rose to their feet. Viola, for her park, would embark on the rest of the day with some great frustration built in the pit of her stomach.

  “Come on,” Graham said at length, pressing a kiss to Viola’s temple. “We have to get ready. Everyone’s waiting.”

  ***

  Although she’d been a bit rushed, Viola thought she looked rather like a leader when the trio finally made their way out of Graham’s quarters. Rummaging through the bags full of clothes that Graham had gotten from her apartment, she had found herself a black blazer with three-quarter-length sleeves which she wore over a grey sequined tank top and black skinny jeans tucked into calf-high heeled boots. She borrowed a pair of silver hoop earrings from Winnie, who also did her makeup with a dramatic smoky eye and neutral lip, and then she spent a solid ten minutes just thinking about what to do with her hair. She’d let it air dry after washing it, which meant that it was kinked and waved in odd places and couldn’t be worn straight down. Finally, she settled on plaiting it into a long braid down her back. The effect was not altogether unpleasant.

  Rowan stayed in his form-fitting black tee shirt and dark denim jeans, scrounging up a pair of black dress shoes to attempt to look presentable. He wore black leather cuffs on each wrist and slicked his black hair back, looking every bit the part of the panther shifter. Graham opted for brown tweed and dark denim, looking like something a college girl might swoon over, his five-o’clock shadow completing the image of the scruffy, hot professor. The three of them were really something, a bizarre collection of “types”, none of which particularly went together.

  Graham led Viola and Rowan out of his private rooms and out onto the main esplanade, toward the great hall, where hundreds of people had already gathered. The throng was vaguely organized into something of a semicircle, and most of them were seated in groups on the floor. Others, likely individuals of some import, took up chairs along the back walls on all sides, looking very stern and displeased at having been summoned to the Ursus Dwelling, while simultaneously trying to conceal their judgment and their wonder at their surroundings.

  Viola scanned the faces, trying to see if she could determine who was from what clan. Did the Alpha of Clan Equus have a particularly long face? And those from Clan Paraves, did they have beaked noses? But no—they were people, who all looked more or less the same, bearing no particular characteristic resemblances to the animals with whom they were inextricably linked.

  Rowan was doing very little to mask his curiosity as he tilted his head back to take in the size of the room they were in, so deep below the surface of the earth, in the heart of a small mountain. A trio of antler chandeliers hung overhead, casting everything in a warm glow; beneath their feet, hardwood floors and woven rugs. Seating was carved into the walls of the room, like reading nooks with benches and long cushions. It was a beautiful room, the perfect place to gather an entire species, if one were so inclined, and to keep them safe and comfortable and warm.

  Now, Viola, Graham, and Rowan were center stage, all but encircled by their people, and when they’d entered the space, the din of a hundred conversations had died down to silence. Rowan nodded to his council members, including his mother, who was looking at him steely-eyed, and Graham held up his hands as he began to speak.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” he began, his voice booming, “Thank you all so much for gathering here today. I know you must all have a myriad of questions floatin
g through your minds, and I assure you, we will take all the time you need to get them answered. But let us speak first, to try to explain what has happened, and what we would like to see come out of some long-standing conflicts amongst our kind.”

  Graham cast a glance to Rowan, who stepped forward, his hands at his sides, his posture tall and proud. “My father, Alec Weaver, heretofore the Alpha of Clan Felidae, is dead,” he said, sending a rustle of surprise through the crowd. Certainly they’d all speculated to that effect, considering his absence was all but palpable. “Graham McCallum, Viola St. James, and I were behind removing Alec Weaver from power. We deemed it necessary under the circumstances.”

  “What circumstances, exactly?” This was the voice of Elizabeth Weaver, Rowan’s mother, who was sitting as straight as she could though she was clearly wracked with emotions. “Tell me, my son, what circumstances necessitated the murder of your father, and clan Alpha?”

  Rowan shot her a look and grew as cold as she was. “Let’s not hide our customs, Mother,” he said, “Everyone here should know that the way an Alpha ascends to power is through the violent removal of his predecessor.” This sent another murmur through the crowd; clearly these brutal tactics were unique to Clan Felidae. His mother went quiet, leaning back where she stood and turning her gaze away from her son. “And the reason it was necessary to remove him was that he set a series of plans in motion that removed a great many clan leaders and other members of clan leadership, all over the continent.”

  “That’s absurd,” came an anonymous voice from the crowd, low and gruff. “This is a conspiracy theory they’re using to frighten us.”

  “No, it’s true,” Viola said, stepping forward. “I was a member of the Somnus Sacrae Assassins Guild, in the employ of Clan Felidae. I didn’t know… I didn’t know anything about the nature of my marks, only that it was my job to take them out.”