Filthy Alpha

by Liza Street

  8

  Jase scoured the edge of the lake, trying to find Blythe’s backpack. He could smell her presence here, but it was recent, probably from when she’d gone fishing.

  And he’d never seen her with a backpack before.

  Realizing she must have lost it the first night she’d entered the Junkyard, he headed toward the southern edge of the lake, where Cherry Creek joined it. He hoped she’d dropped the pack on this side of the boundary, otherwise he’d have to go all the way to the northern border and ask Grant to come down here and retrieve it.

  A scrap of bright blue caught his eye. It didn’t look like a backpack, though. It looked like…he moved closer and used the toe of his tennis shoe to nudge it out from under a fallen branch. The fabric was a filmy lace, and strappy. A bra? Feeling like the creepy villain in a B movie, he picked it up and smelled it. It carried the scent of a sweet pineapple. This bra was Blythe’s.

  “I’m not a disgusting asshole,” he said to himself as he pocketed the bra. He groaned when the next thing he saw was a matching piece of blue fabric. Panties. Fuck. He was turned on by blue fabric out in the middle of the woods when he should be on a medicine-finding mission.

  Impatiently, he picked up the panties and continued his scavenger hunt. He found some granola bars, partially chewed through in some cases, and wedged in bear scat nearby. That explained the scattered contents of Blythe’s backpack—a bear had gotten into it. He hoped the medicine was still safe in its bottle.

  He made his way through the trees, collecting items of clothing, a big plastic bag stuffed with papers and a couple of notebooks, and a wallet. A clear pocket on the outside of the wallet showed Blythe’s driver’s license. Her face scowled up at him from the photo, and he smiled.

  Her birthday was in July. Jase frowned. Was it July now? He thought it was, but hell, he didn’t pay much attention. Long, hot days meant summer, and cold, short ones meant winter, and that was about as much as he noticed the passage of the seasons. He tracked the days of the week for their food shipments—that was far more important.

  Five more minutes, and he’d gathered everything he could, including a bright purple backpack with the front torn off. No medicine bottles, though. Shit. He’d go ask Grant and Caitlyn for some pain killers.

  He piled everything inside of it and heard the unmistakable sound of a pill bottle when he picked up the whole thing.

  There, in the side pocket, was a prescription bottle.

  Now he could feel more like a hero than a panty-stealing sicko. He ran to the cabin and found Stetson sitting outside, a book and a pen in his hands.

  “Thanks, man,” Jase said to him.

  “No problem,” Stetson said. “All was quiet.”

  “Hey, before you go, what day is it?”

  “July thirtieth.”

  Jase felt his shoulders fall. He’d missed Blythe’s birthday by ten days.

  “Well, get in there to your mate,” Stetson said. “I hope she feels better soon.”

  Nodding, Jase went into the cabin. If he’d been human, it would’ve been difficult to see in the dim light. As a shifter, he had no problem making out Blythe’s still form on the bed, with the edge of the other pillowcase pulled over her eyes.

  “Hey,” she said in a quiet voice.

  “You’re awake,” he said. “Good. I found your medicine.”

  “Thank you. The headache’s fading, but I’ll take it anyway—it should keep me from getting another migraine tomorrow.”

  “How many pills?” he asked.

  “Just one.”

  He found the bottle in her destroyed backpack and shook out a pill, then he pressed it into one of her palms. “There you go.”

  She slowly sat up. With her eyes half-closed, she found the water glass and took the pill.

  “Need anything else?” Jase asked.

  “No thanks. And thanks for the meds.”

  “Happy to help,” he said. It was true—he didn’t want to be anywhere else right now. Not in his workshop, not outside wandering around in his cougar form. “Are you hungry?”

  She shook her head.

  “What have you eaten today?”

  She shook her head again. “Nothing.”

  He walked to the shelves next to the ice chests and found the new box of granola bars. Bringing one over to Blythe, he opened it for her and wafted it in front of her nose.

  “I’m not hungry, but thanks anyway. I’m mostly bored.”

  “Bored? Really?”

  She peeked an eye open. “I’ve been trapped in my head all day with nothing to do. I might’ve worked out a plot issue with my novel, but otherwise, there’s not much to think about.”

  He wished he’d listened to his instincts earlier in the day. All morning, he’d sat with his tools, working out measurements and puttering around. There’d been a heavy feeling in his gut and he thought he should check on Blythe. But he also didn’t want to disturb her while she was writing.

  Next time, he’d listen to any urging feelings much, much sooner. He could’ve sat with her and kept her company, even if she didn’t want to talk.

  “Tell you what,” Jase said. “You eat this granola bar, and I’ll entertain you with a story.”

  The corner of her mouth lifted in a faint smile. “What’s the story about?”

  “I don’t know. Are you going to be picky and demanding, or are you going to sit back, eat your granola bar, and appreciate my innate storytelling talent?”

  She shook her head. “Don’t make me laugh. But, the latter. I’ll appreciate your talent and eat the granola bar.”

  “Excellent.” He sat down next to her and tugged her against his side. This felt very homey, holding his mate close, getting ready to tell her a story, taking care of her.

  She wasn’t really his mate, he told himself. It was just a tiny, nudging reminder so he wouldn’t get too comfortable. So he wouldn’t get too attached.

  “Once upon a time,” he said, “there was a princess in a tower. She was trapped there, and any prince who came to talk to her was whacked over the head with a pipe she wielded.”

  Blythe gave a soft snort and he looked down to see her rolling her eyes at him.

  “What?” he said. “It’s a good story. Do you want me to stop?”

  “No, no, keep going,” she said, and rested her head against his shoulder.

  “Okay, then. But no interruptions from the audience.” He took a deep breath to continue, but just as he opened his mouth to speak, he heard approaching footsteps.

  “Jase!” someone shouted from outside.

  He looked down to see Blythe wincing. “Hang on a sec,” he whispered to her, and rushed to the door. Opening it, he saw Konrad Vezirov, one of the newer Junkyard shifters, rushing toward him.

  Jase held up a finger to his lips. “Keep it down—Blythe has a migraine.”

  “Sorry,” Vezirov said, lowering his voice. His black hair was a mess, like he’d just shifted from his mountain lion form, and his hazel eyes were wide and serious.

  Jase waited, arms held at his sides. He’d never seen Vezirov in such a state of upset before. It was eerie.

  “You gotta come see this,” Vezirov said. “It’s Alleman. He’s dead.”

  The body lay along the edge of the pond, half in the water, high grasses hiding it from view. Alleman had died while in his cougar form, his throat torn out. The tan fur looked darker because it was wet—not with blood, but with water. It looked as if whoever had killed him had tried to drown him, or—

  “They were trying to hide their scent,” Stetson said from beside Jase.

  Jase took in Stetson’s calm face, betrayed only by the tightness of his jaw. Several other guys were crowded around.

  “So who the fuck did it?” Jase wondered aloud.

  Shaking his head with distaste, he knelt down in the wet grasses and got his face closer to Alleman’s body so he could smell it better. There was death—bloody, crude, and full of rage. If the torn throat hadn’t be
en an indication, the crispy scent of anger hinted at the violence in Alleman’s final moments. Jase also took in Alleman’s scent of stale beer and sour hops. And there was something new and unfamiliar, a smoky scent that Jase couldn’t quite place. Some kind of bear. A grizzly. But it was no one he knew.

  “Has everyone given him a sniff?” Jase asked.

  “Yeah,” Vezirov said. “First thing we did, trying to identify the killer.”

  The other guys nodded, some of them looking solemn. Some looked confused.

  Jase pivoted on his knees and regarded each one of the men in turn. “Whoever did this, we don’t know them. There’s someone new in the Junkyard.”

  9

  Full dark. Blythe rolled over, less carefully than last time. Her head was feeling better, and since she’d taken the medicine, she didn’t have to fear a cluster of migraines. Sometimes they came in groups, one right after the other.

  Jase had taken care of her. She tugged his pillow closer and inhaled his scent. Nobody had really taken care of her before, not in this selfless way like Jase had done.

  She wondered if he’d eaten yet. Maybe she could fix something for him, if she could handle getting up.

  Experimentally, she stood. Her head felt tender, her body weak, but she could stand. And being able to stand up meant she could do something for Jase, to repay him for his kindness.

  The little cabin didn’t have much in the way of pots and pans, but it had a tiny electric stove, a frying pan, and a spatula. She found a cutting board and knife stowed beneath the sink, and as long as the stove worked, she’d have all she needed.

  Forty-five minutes later, she had a meal of fried veggies and chicken breast all set up for the two of them.

  An hour and forty-five minutes later, she’d wrapped the plates up in foil and stuck them inside the ice chest. Where was that man? He’d left in a hurry, quietly telling her there was an emergency but he’d be back soon.

  Two hours and fifteen minutes later, she was putting on her shoes and a sweatshirt and stepping out into the dark night. Her eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness as she walked, but she still had to go slowly to avoid tripping on random branches, rocks, or logs. She held her arms out, too, just in case.

  Without warning, something charged toward her from the trees. Blythe screamed in fright, the sound forcing its way through her throat.

  “Stop!” a man shouted.

  The animal skidded to a halt a few feet from Blythe. The moonlight reflected in its eyes. She was staring into the face of a giant wolf.

  “Sorry,” the man said, stepping from the shadows.

  As he grew closer, Blythe could make out his lighter hair and a big beard. Ah, the moonshine-making Viking.

  “Noah?” she asked.

  “Yeah. And that’s Buenevista. We’re on the lookout for a killer, and we thought you were them for a second. You shouldn’t be out here alone.”

  “Well,” she started to say. “Hold on, wait. A killer?”

  “Best you talk to your mate about it,” Noah said. “Come on, we’ll take you to him.”

  Buenevista, in his wolf form, led the way while Noah patiently walked next to Blythe. Buenevista’s wolf was beautiful, a tawny brown and black. His eyes remained blue, as they were when he was human. His teeth were huge, though. Blythe gave him a wide berth.

  “Can you tell me a little more about what’s going on?” Blythe asked.

  Noah cleared his throat. “Alleman’s dead.”

  The shock washed over Blythe first, and she waited for regret or sorrow, but she couldn’t muster anything up. Alleman had been a threat to her from the beginning. He’d been an antagonizer, and she was one hundred percent certain that if he’d ever ended up alone with Blythe, he’d have been a rapist, too. So instead of sorrow or even much surprise, she mostly felt relief.

  Did that make her a bad person?

  She wasn’t going to dance on his grave or anything, but surely she could dredge up some kind of regret?

  Then she remembered the cool, calculating look in his eyes when he’d threatened her. Barnum had been scary, but Alleman? Alleman had been terrifying. Alleman had goaded Barnum along—Blythe had overheard them talking, more than once. Alleman gave the orders, Barnum followed them. And Alleman’s orders were full of vicious, cruel intent.

  Nope, no regret. Maybe later she’d find some in the far reaches of her heart, but right now, she was relieved he was gone.

  Not giving any indication that he had insight into Blythe’s thoughts, Noah continued, “The thing is, it wasn’t any one of us who killed him.”

  “Okay, now you need to explain,” Blythe said.

  “Hey, Jase,” Noah called.

  “Here,” Jase’s voice responded from the darkness ahead. “Why aren’t you in the central area?”

  Their darn shifter abilities had them finding each other in the midnight forest, while Blythe was wandering around, practically blindfolded. She squinted past the dark shapes of trees, trying to find Jase.

  “I got your mate here,” Noah said. “She was wandering around in the dark. Buenevista nearly knocked her over.”

  “Fuck’s sake, Buenevista,” Jase said.

  “I’m fine,” Blythe said, tired of them all talking about her like this. “I just wondered where you were, Jase. I made you dinner.”

  “You’re feeling better?” Suddenly he was in front of her, and although she couldn’t see much, she could see the look of concern on his face. He took her hand in his and pressed a kiss to her cheek.

  He was just selling the whole “mate” thing, she told herself. Nothing more. The tenderness was an act for the benefit of Damien and Noah.

  But still, she felt warm. Cherished.

  “Yes, much better,” she said. “Thank you again for finding my medicine.”

  “You’re welcome. I’ll walk you back to the cabin, though. It isn’t safe out here. We don’t know who killed Alleman, or why.” He kept her hand in his and started walking, so she had no choice but to go with him.

  “Then you’re coming back to the cabin for the night, as well?” Blythe asked.

  “No, I’ll be out here, trying to track down the killer.”

  Well, that was a bit of a double standard. Blythe had to go home and, what, run the household, while Jase got to solve a murder?

  “I can help,” Blythe said.

  “Babe,” he said in a firm tone.

  She felt her shoulders tense up. “Don’t you babe me.”

  A low chuckle came from the trees behind them, where Noah was waiting with Buenevista.

  “Shut up, Ephraimson,” Jase said. To Blythe, he said, “I’m sorry, but this is just not the place for a frail human—”

  “Oh no, you don’t,” she snapped, feeling her heart pumping faster with anger. “I am not a frail human—I fought off Alleman and Barnum and fuck knows who else while I was in that RV. And before that, foster dads and fake creepy uncles, and other monsters a hundred times scarier than any shapeshifter.”

  “It’s dark,” Jase said. “You can barely see.”

  Her shoulders fell. He had a point and she hated that he had a point.

  “If I get hurt,” Jase said, “I’ll most likely heal.”

  “Alleman won’t,” she pointed out.

  “You’re right. There are no guarantees.” Jase sighed, then brought her hand to his lips. His breath was soft against her knuckles as he said, “But I’d never forgive myself if something happened to you.”

  She looked around. None of the other guys were in sight, but that didn’t mean they weren’t within hearing distance. Was Jase saying this to further sell the idea of her as his mate?

  Or did he really mean this?

  It was so sweet, so unexpected.

  And, yeah, a bit domineering.

  She found herself without a comeback, so she walked quietly at his side the rest of the way to the cabin. He wordlessly helped her stay upright the couple of times she tripped, without even an “I told you so” to
underline his point that she was useless out here.

  At the door to the cabin, he paused while she stepped inside.

  “There’s a deadbolt on this door,” he said. “I want you to lock it while I’m gone.”

  Blythe looked pointedly at the windows of the cabin, which would hardly keep out a monster determined to get in.

  Jase shook his head. “I know, I know. Nothing is a hundred percent safe. But I’d feel better if you locked the door. And either I’ll search this area, or I’ll have Ephraimson and Buenevista come back. You won’t be entirely alone, okay?”

  “I’m still pissed that I can’t help,” she said.

  “I know you are.”

  “I might eat all the stir fry I made.”

  His teeth shone as he grinned. “If you’re hungry, you should eat it.”

  “I’m not hungry. I’m going to eat your share just to spite you.”

  “If it makes you feel better, babe, go for it.”

  “That babe thing again,” she said. But the truth was, she kind of liked it, coming from Jase. And that was almost as worrisome as the hitch in her breath when he took her hand again, turned it over, and kissed her palm.

  Her heart pounded with need, with want. All her earlier anger was forgotten as the simple gesture rocked through her body and turned her blood molten with desire.

  His dual-colored eyes met hers as he looked her over. “I like calling you babe,” he said. “But if you want me to stop, I will.”

  Well, hell. This was probably the most sensual thing to happen to her. Not only the kiss on her hand, but the way he asked permission for a freaking pet name.

  “You don’t have to stop,” she whispered, wondering if she was giving him way more permission than she intended. But she had a feeling that if she ever so much as breathed a request of slowing down or stopping, he’d listen.

  He turned her hand over and kissed her knuckles before letting it go. “Then I’ll see you later, babe.”

  As soon as he left, closing the door behind him, she squeezed her fist shut, holding the breath of his kiss against her skin.

  10