Filthy Alpha

by Liza Street

  Seconds later, the knock came. “Hey, it’s Jase.”

  Taking a deep breath, she said, “Come in.”

  He opened the door and stepped into the cabin. The entire room felt right again. Did he know what kind of a hole his leaving had ripped not only in this tiny little home, but in her heart?

  “Hey,” she said brightly.

  “Hey.” He focused on something near her feet. She resisted the urge to look down because she knew he wasn’t actually looking at anything, but avoiding her gaze. “I just wanted to let you know we still haven’t found the guy.”

  “I heard Damien and Konrad talking,” she said.

  “I’ll have to tell them to be quieter so they don’t disturb you.”

  “I’m not disturbed at all. My novel is coming along nicely.” She tapped her pen against her notebook. And by nicely, she meant that the heroine was currently wallowing in self-pity, unable to get past the heartache of learning that the love she’d felt had been false. Blythe had come up with a zillion different ways to write about a broken heart.

  “If you’re sure,” he said.

  “Yep, I’m sure.”

  An awkward silence stretched between them. Why wouldn’t he look at her? She had asked him not to leave. She’d asked him not to force this distance between them.

  He’d done it anyway.

  And Blythe was just proud enough to not let him see how much that hurt. A man didn’t want her? Big deal—it just proved the fated mates thing was garbage, anyway. She couldn’t believe she’d started to believe in it after, what, a few nights of sex?

  Turning back to the table, she waited for him to leave again. Then she realized she looked like she was sulking, and that wouldn’t do, so she spun back around to ask him something inane.

  He was already gone.

  She took a nap. She did some stretches. She wrote a scene where the heartbroken woman tossed her former lover’s belongings into a dumpster and started a trash fire.

  She opened the cabin door to see if the coast was clear—maybe she could go visit Caitlyn. But a guy named Luca waved at her from where he leaned against a fir tree. “Need something, Blythe?”

  “No, I’m good. Thanks.” Sighing, she turned around and went back into the cabin.

  In her loneliness, she wrote more than ever, and all of it was complete and total crap.

  She could pretend until her dying breath that she didn’t care what Jase did or how he felt about her, but the truth was, she’d been falling in love with that man, and the fact he could toss her aside “for her protection,” or any reason at all, made her feel that her chest was caving in on itself.

  She tapped her pen on the notebook again. She would not cry. She would not cry. She would not cry.

  A tear fell on her notebook, obliterating the word love.

  Dammit, she was crying.

  20

  “Something wrong, boss?” Barnum asked.

  Jase shook his head. Everything was wrong. Blythe was putting on a brave face, all of her emotional walls up again. It had taken him ages to get through to her, and he’d undone all that effort with his decision to call things off.

  He was an idiot.

  Stetson, who prowled ahead of them in his panther form, kept to the shadows of the trees. He turned to glare at Jase, his yellow gold eyes shining against his black coat.

  “I fucked things up,” Jase said.

  “Well, it isn’t your fault Alleman died,” Barnum said, batting at a moth that flitted around his face. “I didn’t see it before, but the guy was a dickhead. I shouldn’t have been friends with him.”

  “That wasn’t what I meant,” Jase said, but they’d talked too much already. They needed to focus.

  By now, they should’ve found someone. The fact that they hadn’t meant either the guy had escaped, or he was especially crafty with hiding himself. They should’ve been able to hunt him by his scent, at the very least, but they’d combed the entire territory and found nothing. Jase had told them to stop relying on their noses and start looking with their eyes—not just for tracks on the ground, but in the trees. He still didn’t understand how the person they sought could have disappeared. Water would wash away scent temporarily, but it hadn’t rained in over two weeks.

  “Then what do you mean?” Barnum said. “You can’t mean Blythe, because the two of you are the cutest pairing of fated mates I ever saw.”

  Jase stopped walking and stared at him. “The fuck? Two weeks ago, you were fighting to claim her against her will.”

  Barnum shrugged. “I didn’t know her then. Besides, she’s a good fishing partner.”

  “Your only excuse is you didn’t know her?” Jase said. “Would you fight over the next woman to wander in?”

  “Hell no.” Barnum’s face turned ferocious. “Blythe’s been teaching me to be a feminist. It is always a woman’s right to choose. Consent is sacred. If I respect women, I might find a mate someday. But I can’t treat her like she’s less than me—she’s equal, and her opinion on things matters just as much as mine.”

  How did Barnum now know more about women than Jase did? It didn’t take long for Jase to figure it out. It was because Barnum had listened to Blythe.

  And in hearing Blythe’s words through Barnum’s mouth, Jase was finally beginning to understand. Jase needed to get over his fear of hurting her and let her speak for herself.

  But every time he thought about doing that, and about embracing her as a part of the Junkyard, he saw her throat, bruised. Her heard her voice, hoarse from the injury. He smelled her fear from the attack.

  “It’s getting dark,” Barnum said.

  Jase nodded. He’d told everyone to quit searching at dusk. Their night vision was strong, but better to have the benefit of light on their side while they searched.

  “Just one more place. We need to head for the creek,” Jase said to Barnum.

  “We’ve already looked there,” Barnum said.

  “Not as carefully as we should have,” Jase said. “He could be keeping himself in the lake, using the water to hide his scent.”

  “Doesn’t sound very comfortable,” Barnum said.

  Jase nodded. “But it’s the only thing I can think of, other than some kind of spell. He isn’t in the trees, he isn’t anywhere else.”

  “And if it’s a spell,” Barnum said, “we’re fucked.”

  Listening in on the conversation, Stetson, in his panther form, turned around and loped in the direction of the creek. Jase and Barnum followed closely behind.

  A few yards from the creek, Jase stopped. A burnt pine scent was faint, but present—the same scent he’d picked up on Blythe after she’d been attacked.

  “He’s here—” he started to say, just as a dark shape fell from a low branch and landed on top of Stetson.

  Yowling and twisting under the bear’s grasp, Stetson struggled to get free. Blood scented the air—Stetson’s or the bear’s, Jase couldn’t tell.

  Jase darted forward, Barnum at his side. He tore off his shirt, ready to shift. “Guard me,” he said to Barnum. “And help Stetson if he needs it.”

  The most dangerous part of a fight was when one person was in the middle of a shift—vulnerable, unable to do anything except wait for the body to transform. Five to ten seconds could mean the difference between life and death if one’s opponent fought dirty. And from the way that bear had just leaped onto Stetson’s back from the tree, this opponent was fighting dirty.

  Jase could fight dirty, too.

  He kicked off his jeans and crouched on all fours. A white light surrounded him, causing him to squint, and moments later, he stood as a mountain lion. He blinked, clearing the bright light from his vision.

  The fight continued, with the bear roaring and the panther snarling. Barnum stood protectively between Jase and the action. As soon as Jase growled and leaped forward, Barnum started stripping. It might take three of them to take down this guy without killing him. Jase had no problem with the guy dying, eventually,
but first he needed to talk to him.

  So far, Stetson was doing a good job of wearing the bear down, fighting without going for a killing blow.

  The bear wasn’t showing any similar restraint. Every blow had behind it the intent to kill. Jase circled around them, looking for a good position to leap in and help Stetson.

  Something heavy landed on him, shoving his face into the ground. Jase growled and tried to spin, hoping to both free himself and find out what the hell was happening to him. Something sharp punctured the back of his neck, tearing down toward his spine and shoulders. He yowled—it felt like he was being skinned alive.

  The only thing he could figure was that there’d been a second attacker. The scent of bear filled his nostrils.

  Despite the stinging agony in his back, he forced his legs to straighten. He was holding not only his weight, but the weight of the bear on top of him. His legs shook under the stress, but if he fell to his stomach again, he was a goner. Already the bear was pulling back, probably getting ready for another swipe. And this one just might kill Jase.

  He fell, but on purpose this time, and to the side where a pine tree stood. The bear slid into the tree, but recovered faster than Jase. The bear’s claws were up, its teeth bared. Jase knew he was bleeding—he could feel cool air against his damp fur. How badly he was bleeding, he couldn’t say.

  Already the bear was lunging forward. Jase pulled himself to balance on his hind legs so he could swipe at the bear’s neck, but he could already tell he wasn’t going to be fast enough. The strip of skin pulled from his back, or whatever had happened, had made him weak. His muscles screamed in protest.

  Everything else happening seemed to be taking place in mist, or underwater. Night was falling much faster than it ought to, and Jase couldn’t see. His heart thudded in a panicked rhythm. Fight—fight—but his body would not obey.

  Just as the bear stepped forward to deliver a killing blow, a spotted leopard slammed into it.

  Barnum.

  Jase turned to see what was happening with Stetson and the other bear. Stetson stood over an unmoving bear, still in his panther form. At least he was safe. And Barnum seemed to be holding his own with the other bear.

  All was well. Everyone was safe. He’d done his duty as alpha.

  The world around him darkened further. Jase’s eyes were closing—he struggled to keep them open, told himself to stay awake. But his body had other ideas.

  Jase woke to Stetson shaking his shoulder. Stetson was in his human form standing over Jase, a grim expression pulling his mouth into a frown.

  “Jase, wake up,” Stetson said.

  “I’m awake.” Jase was in his human form, too, lying on his side. He must’ve shifted while he was unconscious. “What happened?”

  “Stay down,” Stetson said. “You’re hurt bad. Both of the guys are dead. And Barnum…I don’t know if he’s going to make it.”

  “Shit.” Jase pushed himself up to sitting. Agony rippled through his back, his muscles and skin pulling.

  “I said stay down,” Stetson said. “I called for help. Soon as some guys get here, we’ll carry Barnum to the border, and you to your cabin.”

  Jase couldn’t sit up, but he could turn his head enough to see Barnum. He’d also shifted to human, so that was a good sign, but the tear through his abdomen made Jase wince.

  “Your back looks about the same, but I think you’ll make it,” Stetson said.

  Approaching footsteps crunched softly over the ground covered with pine needles. Jase tried to sit up again, but the pain made him dizzy, so he let his head fall. He hated feeling weak, but if his back looked even close to how Barnum’s abdomen appeared, he shouldn’t be moving at all.

  He smelled the sharp cedar and wolf scent of Ephraimson and the dusty scent of Vezirov.

  “Can you two carry Barnum to the northern border and get Caitlyn and Grant’s attention?” Stetson said.

  “Sure thing,” Vezirov said, carefully lifting Barnum.

  “After that, have a team—as many as you can gather—come over here and search the lake and stream,” Stetson said. “I think we got the only two here, but it’s best to check.”

  “On it,” Vezirov said.

  “What about the alpha?” Ephraimson asked.

  Stetson came over to tug on Jase’s arm. “I’m going to help him to the cabin.”

  “Let his mate take care of him,” Vezirov agreed. “It looks bad, Jase, but I think you’ll be okay.”

  Barnum was unconscious, which was a small mercy, Jase decided as Ephraimson and Vezirov carried him away. While Stetson helped Jase up, Jase wondered if it would be possible for him to pass out, too, because fuck, this hurt. He groaned and slapped Stetson’s hand away.

  “Don’t be a baby,” Stetson said.

  “Fuck you, my back is split in half.”

  “Just a little scrape,” Stetson said. “You want me to call a few more guys so we can carry you?”

  Jase huffed. “No. Just get me on my feet.”

  Once Jase was up, Stetson pointed them not to the direct west, where Jase’s workshop was, but to the northwest—in the direction of the cabin.

  “Just take me to my workshop,” Jase said.

  “I don’t think so.” Stetson’s voice was quiet, but firm.

  “You don’t understand—I fucked up,” Jase said. “She doesn’t want to see me. She’s the last person—”

  “She’s the first person who should see you, you dumb fuck,” Stetson said. “You’re the luckiest man in here, stuck with the person you love. Don’t throw that away.”

  It was the most Jase had ever heard Stetson say at once. Jase couldn’t argue with him, either. Stetson spoke the truth.

  Jase loved Blythe, more than anything. Her humanity, her fragility, didn’t change any of that.

  Now if he could only convince her to take him back.

  21

  Nothing had changed, and Blythe was tired.

  She was also mad as hell. How dare he just turn around and walk away when things got hard, when things got dangerous? Tomorrow, when he came by to check on her, she wouldn’t allow him to look away. She would force him to see her, and then she would tell him exactly what she thought of his avoidance and his fear of something happening to her. What an asshat. She’d survived for two weeks in a freaking RV with only a pipe to play whack-a-shifter with.

  Huffing out a breath of frustration, she plopped down onto the tiny mattress. The bedding still smelled like Jase. She’d like to play whack-a-shifter with him, maybe knock some sense into him.

  She’d just closed her eyes when someone knocked at the door. Her eyes shot open.

  Softly, she said, “Who’s there?”

  “It’s Stetson. I have Jase.”

  She scrambled out of bed and yanked open the door. Her heart fell when she saw Jase, his dark skin looking gray in the moonlight, head lolling to the side. Panic clawed through her chest, emptying her lungs. She struggled to speak.

  “What happened?” she finally choked out.

  She stepped out of the way so Stetson could bring him in. Quickly, she lit one of the lamps. What a mistake that was, because the light revealed even more horror. Jase’s skin was truly gray. Blood covered his sides and shoulders. Where was he bleeding from?

  Stetson dragged him toward the bed. “First, he’s going to be fine. He was arguing with me just a few minutes ago.”

  Blythe shoved the blankets off the bed. With a grunt, Stetson dropped Jase face-down onto the mattress. Blythe gasped. His back was a mangled mess of tissue and blood.

  It was then she noticed both men were naked. She found a pair of jeans in one of the crates at the side of the room and tossed them to Stetson, who put them on.

  “We found the guy who attacked you,” Stetson said. “He had a friend. Both are dead now. Jase got his back torn up. Barnum’s in worse shape.”

  “Where’s Barnum?” Blythe asked.

  “Couple of guys carried him to Caitlyn.”

&
nbsp; Blythe knelt on the floor next to Jase and stroked his arm. “What do I do for him? I don’t know how to give someone stitches.”

  “Nothing to do,” Stetson said. “He’ll heal on his own.”

  “No way, look at him.” Blythe could barely look at him, herself.

  “Believe it or not, he was worse off ten minutes ago. He’ll be fine. I have to check on Barnum. Thanks for the jeans.”

  And with that, Stetson left.

  Blythe looked at the man next to her. His face was pinched in pain. She poured him a glass of water and set it next to the bed. Stetson had said there was nothing to do, but Blythe still couldn’t believe that. Forcing herself to look at Jase’s back again, she had to admit that it was looking better already. The blood wasn’t flowing and had dried in many places. Well, she could at least clean him up. Nobody wanted to lie around being sticky from their own blood.

  A week ago, she’d done the same thing. Towels, water, washing away his blood. And he had the nerve to say that she wasn’t safe here?

  She carefully washed around the wounds. She focused on the task and tried to alienate herself from the fact that she was washing away the blood of a person she cared about—a person she loved.

  He flinched when she accidentally got too close to the last open wound, and she murmured, “I’m so sorry.”

  Saying those three words seemed to cause something to crumble inside of her, and her eyes teared up. She put away the towels, turned off the lantern, and resumed her station at the side of the bed. She leaned against the mattress, stroking Jase’s arm.

  “I’m sorry for pretending to be okay when I’m not,” she whispered. “I’m not okay that you decided we shouldn’t be together. I’m not okay with any of it. And I’m so mad at you, Jase.”

  He didn’t respond, he was dead asleep.

  Now was her chance to tell him everything.

  “I’m so mad at you—I’m furious. What I feel for you is too strong for the kind of bullshit you tried to sell me. I’m not vulnerable. Hell, look at which one of us is near death right now, you asshole. So get better, so I can yell at you. And once I’m done yelling at you, I’ll tell you that I love you.”