Shifter Alpha Claim 1-6 Omnibus

by Tamara Rose Blodgett

  I sigh. “You haven't forgotten, have you?”

  This is normal for me. Talking to my cat. Pooky.

  And I'm the counselor.

  She gives a really sharp meow and I frown. I toss my pulse inside my handbag. “What's up, Pooky? It better be good. I'm late now because of your shenanigans. I don't know how many more behind-the-ear scratches I have left.” A total lie, of course.

  Her paw swats the top of the fridge, and something hard drops to the floor with a sharp clatter.

  “What is that?” I ask softly. I bend over and pick it up.

  Drop it again as though I touched a flame.

  I race to the bathroom, ignoring my blotchy face, and open the medicine cabinet. I push aside Midol, two-year-old mascara and find the tweezers.

  I snatch them, leaving the door ajar and run back.

  I pluck the object off the ground at the pointy end with the tweezers. I grab a magnifying glass out of my catchall holder of miscellaneous crap.

  I hold it above the object to see the detail.

  My heart thuds at the realization of what I'm holding.

  I have a minor in Biology. Useless in some ways, but I loved learning about all things living.

  This is no exception. It's a tooth.

  Canine.

  Though it looks like a regular wolf's—it's not. I was fascinated with wolves when I was an intern. And I remember holding a wolf canine. Root and all, maybe it was two inches, plus.

  But if memory serves, it was certainly not the four and a half inches that sits inside my palm.

  The tweezers aren't wide enough to accommodate its length or girth and as I try to examine it, the tooth slips out of the too-small pincers.

  When it hits the floor a small bit breaks off. I scoop that from the floor and haul out a plastic zippered bag, dropping it inside. I lift the baggy, shaking the bit of tooth inside.

  I think I'll be calling in a favor from my favorite lab geek best friend.

  I can't even speculate what I have here. I look up at Pooky. “Who was here, girl?” I ask the cat that can't talk.

  She purrs, chartreuse eyes gazing back with typical casual indifference.

  “You're no help,” I mutter.

  Meow.

  I grunt my response. I use tongs this time and clamp the mostly intact large canine and put it in the junk drawer.

  Nice way to contaminate all your stuff, Talyn.

  And the mystery deepens.

  I drop the baggy with the strange piece inside my purse, and swipe my pulse.

  I think a message to Arden that I've got something really unusual to show him.

  He lives for The Weird.

  He'll get right back.

  I don't have time to wait. I give a last thoughtful glance at Pooky and go to the garage. I toss the baggy into my post chute and thumb in Arden's full name. The whir of the chute engages, whisking the bit of strangeness to his home directly.

  I walk quickly to my car. I'm already late for work. But for once my life's taken an exciting turn.

  If one considers finding a five-inch long canine tooth in their home exciting.

  7

  Merck

  There she is, right on schedule.

  I dip my head, eyeing my archaic wristwatch. Nope—she's a few minutes late. My brow furrows.

  If there's one thing I've noticed about Talyn Phisher in the last two months of tailing her—she's punctual.

  Once she's out of her garage and leaving for work. I move to my old-fashioned mode of transport.

  I can't be my good wolf self in broad daylight. Someone would take note. Or many someones.

  Instead I hop on my fatboy Harley and turn over the engine. Low purring pipes, specially outfitted sans the classic eardrum-splitting wail. Loud noises are hell on Lycan hearing.

  I pull away from the curb three blocks from Talyn's little bungalow and make steady progress to her downtown office. I like where it's located.

  Phillips street is now a mecca for the vamps. It's been months since the vamps were outed and mundanes are just now appearing at night again.

  The Final Enforcement saw to that. And shit, wasn't that something. A fully hybrid vamp/human still works there along with another enforcer who is full vamp.

  I shake my head in wonder with a chuckle. They'll let anyone in.

  However, gotta count my blessings. It takes the heat of being observed by the astute off my shoulders. Before the vamps were discovered in plain sight, the Lycans were vigilant in their concealment.

  Now—with the vamps swinging their dicks in front of the world—the Lycans have a temporary reprieve, even Changers.

  My bike rolls down Phillips, and I glide right past the Carpenter Hotel. It's not really a hotel anymore. That was the building's original distinction when it was built over a hundred years ago. Now it's a holding tank for Hunters and others of the supernatural persuasion.

  It also houses four business suites on the ground level.

  One of those is Talyn's cozy shrink-tank.

  That goth female teen who'd come out of there yesterday as Talyn's last patient of the day had the smell of revelation all over her.

  When Talyn followed a few minutes later, her smell had been despondent.

  The girl had talked, and whatever Talyn had heard was bad. Very.

  That's the nature of her work. Talyn will enjoy leaving that behind. Her solitary life of work, home and work again, will end.

  She'll join the Midwestern pack and find something she loves to do.

  My hands tighten on my grips. They squeak in protest.

  And a mate. Don't forget that, Merck—she'll be fucking some other Lycan and having his whelps.

  We need all the females we can get, I reason. And the Lanarre pick the Lycan who have the skill set to sniff out the hybrids among the human mundane population.

  Whether it be a heightened scent range, protective abilities, discernment. Hell, I still don't know why they picked me. Fifty years I've been on the prowl for transitioning females and I still don't know. None of the Lycan males understand the selection process. And it's a dual-edged sword.

  You're like a priest, you serve something honorable, but you can never have that which you honor.

  I sigh, pulling into a slot across the street, hogging the entire parking space for my bike.

  I grin.

  I feed quarters into the meter. They're slow to be received. I won't be swiping my thumbprint for credit payment. That's what Lycans want: a record of my presence to be traced by the mundanes for later reference.

  What if someone needs killing? Or something. No—better to be mainly invisible.

  I hop onto the street, light pedestrian traffic moves around me like a living river around am immoveable boulder.

  The mundanes do so unconsciously. Them deferring to me. Somewhere in all that rudimentary DNA they are aware of their place.

  Below.

  I stroll causally to the building across the street from the Carpenter Hotel and pretend to investigate the new construction.

  I've done this several times. I already know these loft condos will be five in the unit with an elevator for the richies that can shell out the dough to live in the heart of downtown's up-and-coming. Underground parking—pet area—the works. All yours for five hundred K.

  I allow a low sound of disgust.

  I use the dirtied windows layered in construction dust to watch Talyn in the reflection.

  She exits her car, closing the door carefully and stretches.

  My brow creases. I catch myself before I can turn but my fingertips tingle with the low-level adrenaline that courses through me.

  I flare my nostrils hard.

  Heat.

  Sex.

  Her feminine scent hits me like a sledgehammer between the eyes.

  My eyes travel her form, the reflective qualities leave much to be desired.

  I can see her unrested eyes, flat and dull. Her skin has all the markings of the turbulent even
ts that will no-doubt transpire. Her gait looks impeded by stiffness.

  There's no doubt Talyn's old for a change.

  I know that. But she's not moving like an almost thirty-eight year old. She's moving like she's on the good side of seventy.

  I bite my lip to keep from grinning.

  Joint pain? Check.

  Unless she's suddenly developed arthritis then she's degrading.

  I lift my nose, scenting hard a second time. I was right. Smelling her sweet pussy isn't distinctive. I've been smelling hers and every other female within a mile my entire life.

  Smelling the onset of heat is another matter entirely.

  I turn around just as her hand touches the knob.

  Talyn hesitates, gripping the handle.

  Suddenly she whirls as though sensing me.

  Of course she's too slow.

  I'm already at my bike and feigning a once over at the throttle and gears.

  Her eyes burn over me and my breath boils inside my throat.

  My cock hardens against the uniform of denims I wear to blend with the humans.

  Talyn's scent sharpens, drifting over the cars that move past—the fifty people that mill between her and me.

  I crouch down, wincing at the pinching of my dick, shifting to relieve the pressure.

  Talyn's heat engulfs me as though she's standing beside me. Suffocating me.

  I don't look up, I pretend to check my bike.

  A full minute passes.

  When the sensation of her eyes are gone, and more importantly—the exquisite smell of her scent has faded, I rise.

  Looking both ways, I cross the street.

  I don't move toward the Carpenter Hotel, but towards the back.

  Soon, I vow through gritted teeth.

  8

  Talyn

  The small hairs at my nape rise. The skin feels as though someone is directly behind me, exhaling their hot breath on my neck.

  I spin.

  And gaze across Phillips street.

  Okay—I'm well and truly crazy. Using a word in my mind that is so much more than a swear word in my profession.

  Bonkers. Crazier than a loon. Insane. Nuts. A fry short of a Happy Meal.

  Yup.

  But then my eyes find him.

  I blink.

  He's busy. Every inch of him. Encased in tight jeans and a black t-shirt.

  I lick my lips. Instant lust is not something I'm prone to. I still have a set of D batteries for my favorite dildo lying around. But now with pulse tech, everything is charged via pulse power.

  Right now I'm really pulsing.

  The same wave of heat washes over me. But instead of me thinking it's a hot flash, I recognize it for what it is.

  I'm in lust. For a complete stranger.

  A biker, by the looks of it.

  I bite my lip, squeezing my thighs together for the second time in twenty-four hours.

  I remember that pair of blue eyes from the other night. The ones I didn't imagine.

  The guy that came on to me at the gym last night had blue eyes too—Jimmy, Johnnie? I can't remember, he was so underwhelming.

  Look up.

  He doesn't.

  He's crouched down, his muscular ass holding the rest of his hotness just above the ground as he checks the engine on a sleek black Harley. His head dips as he inspects the bike. I pick out the highlights the sun casts in his military short, nutmeg-colored hair.

  Come on, Talyn.

  Still, I can't take my eyes off him. Every time he leans forward to check another thing, a tricep or bicep bulges cooperatively.

  And I find myself latching onto the bulge in his jeans. Which seems pretty large for a guy doing a little engine perusal.

  The more I stare, the more I flush with desire. My knees literally weaken, my heart speeds, palms dampening.

  I wipe them on my short skirt.

  Get a grip.

  He obviously won't look at me.

  I give a shaky laugh. You're not that interesting, princess. Move on.

  I turn and finish opening the door. My damp skin chills as the AC hits me as I move inside the building.

  I feel foolish.

  That doesn't stop me from hanging back in the shadows and watching him another three full minutes.

  Nor does the gasp from my mouth get stifled when he rises.

  He's tall—a brick house of a man. Broad shoulders shift as he strides into two-way traffic, deftly dodging impact by two cars with only inches to spare.

  His fingers flex as he hops with a fluid grace to the curb then marches around my building, going toward the back. He doesn't turn in my direction.

  Does he have blue eyes?

  Those blue eyes.

  I rush into my office and catch sight of Patty, the assistant who serves both offices on this side of the building.

  “Hi!” I call out breathlessly.

  She sees the look on my face and begins to rise.

  I immediately feel ridiculous. “No, sit! I'm just checking on something.”

  Someone. Some total stranger who couldn't care less about me.

  But I have to know why I had that spark of intuition. There were fifty people on the street. Why did I take note of only him?

  Because he's hot as hell.

  There is that. But I know it has got to be more.

  I rip around to the back, fling open the shade with a yank of the cord and a face fills the glass.

  I scream.

  It's the guy from the gym.

  9

  Patty and I sit together in two chairs.

  Across from Jamie.

  This is how bad of a counselor I am: I can't even remember the guy's name who tried to ask me out.

  However, I do recall the yoga pants comment and cringe. I'm being kind, thinking he was asking me out. I'm not a Gold Gym Body Babe. I'm a late-thirties, curvy-to-the max, bookish type.

  I don't do casual. I don't do losers. I think Jamie's really barking up the wrong tree.

  “Listen, I appreciate your interest,” I begin.

  Patty's eyes are very large in her face as she sits beside me with her hands tightly clasped.

  I'm tense, but direct. I can do this. “But you can't visit my place of work for reasons other than business.”

  Jamie leans back on the lobby couch. I'm just waiting for him to pitch a tent.

  Immediately I assess him. Arrogant, cold—indifferent. He has my psyche flags rising and bonking me directly between my eyes.

  His fingers drum on the back of the couch and he cocks his head, dirty blond hair overshooting the tips of his ears. “There's no law against showing up here and getting a little emotional help?” He smirks, his teeth are very white. A tad sharkish.

  I suppress a shiver.

  He's kind of handsome. When he doesn't open his mouth. That seems to be the main problem.

  And I don't think I can help him with that.

  I smile politely. The effort feels like a Ronald McDonald mask. “You're right of course.”

  Placate.

  His grin escalates to condescending.

  “However, after our interlude last night at the gym, I thought I was quite clear that my interest in you doesn't extend beyond friendship.”

  Distance.

  He nods as though thinking it over. I'm pretty sure he's not. “Oh you were, there's no doubt.”

  I rise to physically cue the conclusion of the impromptu meeting.

  Patty takes that as a hint, and with her wide eyes bulging out of her face, she rounds the corner of her desk a few paces away.

  She'll be pulsing the police about now.

  I form puzzlement on my features as I turn to face him.

  Jamie stands, uncomfortably close to me. I fight not to back away.

  No negotiation.

  “Don't look confused, doctor.”

  My palms dampen.

  Inform.

  “I'm just uncertain as to why you've come here.”

  Hi
s hand locks around my wrist like a snakebite.

  My pulse obligingly pushes against his fingers as they tighten around the small bones. Fear grips me and I instantly bury it in a deep grave.

  I inhale slowly and let it out, making no move to fight his grip.

  Diffuse. I open my mouth and he interrupts, his eyes flicking to my parted lips.

  Adrenaline expands like an air bubble in a vast ocean.

  “Now let me be clear. I want to be seen—in a professional capacity, Doctor Phisher.”

  Terror smothers me. My lips part in readiness for a scream, and my expression of neutrality slips.

  His grip imperceptibly tightens.

  I can't help the whimper of pain when my already tender joints suffer from his hold.

  “Patty,” I murmur quietly, desperately hoping she's followed protocol. No one who enters from the back is considered friendly admittance.

  She doesn't reply and I say the thing that I haven't been trained for. I say the human thing, “Please, don't hurt me.” My voice is low and calm. My heart pounds. I jerk my wrist and he clamps down.

  I moan at the pressure, sweat popping out on my forehead, upper lip, my palms are slick with it. I look at my hand. It's mottled from his vice-like grip.

  A cruel smile fills his face like water pouring into a cup.

  Suddenly the door he came through slams open, and the stranger walks through as the knob buries itself in the wall.

  I look at him, startled, and immediately drown in the sea of his eyes. They're more blue than a summer sky.

  That gaze travels to where Jamie's hand latches my wrist. The edges of those azure eyes tighten like a wrench. “I've lost my way,” he says.

  I blink stupidly. His voice captures me, soothing the frayed edges of my nerves.

  How did I know if he spoke it would be a melody only I could hear?

  Jamie jerks me closer and a small pain sound escapes before I can stop it.

  I don't catch what happens next, it's too fast. He's soundless—the stranger's attack.

  Patty screams.

  It's the blood, I think numbly.

  I'm covered in it. It smells like metallic rain and I stumble back, the soreness of my wrist lost to what's in front of me.

  Jamie's nose is broken—not a little. Shattered like a crimson pancake in the middle of his face.