Alpha Mate (Paranormal Shifter Werewolf Romance)

by Ivanna Roze

  He watched out the front as they moved, watched the streets. Things were quiet in the city. They always were, it seemed. Folks didn't start to settle down in an area with plenty of Devil activity. It was only after the activity slowed down that they would even dream of it. People, ultimately, wanted to live. It was smart of them.

  It wasn't smart, however, for a man who made his living from dealing with spooks. Then, living in the city meant that jobs were few and far between. On the other hand, it meant you could find a decent tailor on near every corner, instead of maybe two or three in the state otherwise.

  A real quality set of clothes, that was a good thing to have, for a hunter as much as for anyone. Their needs were only a little different, and once you found someone who you'd trust with an expensive suit, they could usually be trusted to get the adjustment to working clothes with a few example pieces and some drawings.

  So it was a life of compromises in the city, at least as far as Ashton was concerned. Maybe other folks had a harder time staying out. There were plenty of mundane jobs to be had. Ash had considered working as a private detective, at one point. But it wouldn't work out.

  He couldn't go sneaking around to take dirty pictures of a man's wife dallying with the milkman. It wasn't that he was morally opposed, but the reality was that he wasn't cut out for it. Too big, too loud. He could use his head when he had to, but then he'd had practice with it. Every hunter needed to use his head, or they'd find themselves up a creek before too long.

  They pulled up and he paid the man. Two dollars, keep the change.

  There were a half-dozen booths in the place. Small, but not too small. He looked up and down the row while the woman behind the counter watched him with a disinterest that almost bordered on curiosity. As if she could take or leave what he wanted to eat.

  After a moment a man's head cocked up at him. The fellow looked like he could do to lose twenty pounds, and then the only way you could describe him would be 'nondescript.' The suit he was wearing, on the other hand, was anything but nondescript. The stitching left nothing to be desired, and in spite of his bulk it fit as well as anything that Ash had seen.

  "Mr. Lowe?" The big man raised a hand to wave him over.

  "I'm sorry, my assistant didn't give me a name."

  "I didn't send one," the man answered. "I thought we should do introductions in person."

  "Well, you have me at a disadvantage, then, but I'll start." He had dealt with customers before that had to have every detail dragged out, and it certainly wouldn't be the last time. "My name is Ashton Lowe. I was born here, but I was sent south at a young age to live with my teacher, a Mr. King Peters. I spent twenty years—"

  "That's all I need, thank you." Ashton smoothed over the frustration that threatened to boil under the man's presumptive attitude. It was a job, and the man was clearly paying. He had the look of a man who was willing to spend on something he wanted. "My name is Arthur Little. I'm in banking, on the board of a certain national banking company. I would rather not get my employer involved in this problem."

  "That's understandable."

  "It's my sister that concerns me, you see." Ash nodded. "She's got it in her head that she's going west."

  "That's a dangerous proposition, between the Indians and the Devils."

  "That's why I've contacted you, Mr. Lowe. I'm told that you have experience with both."

  Ashton raised his eyebrows. "I suppose that's true. What were you hoping to spend?"

  "Fifteen thousand, should you see her to our family home in Detroit safely."

  "When do we leave?"

  Mr. Little looked at his wrist, at a watch that looked like it cost fifteen thousand dollars by itself. "A little over thirty hours ago, Mr. Lowe. I believe Cora was headed for Utah. I think you ought to get moving."

  Ashton cursed softly. There wasn't much time to ask for details, then. The man was absolutely right. He ought to get moving.

  Two

  The westbound Union-Pacific took off from Cleveland at 11:30 a.m. on March 28th, and Ashton had just enough time to get on board by the time he'd finished the breakfast with Arthur. A little under two-thousand miles away, and only a few minutes' difference, and Cora was getting off her train in Salt Lake City.

  She looked up at the tall buildings that lined the streets. It wasn't quite so fine as Detroit, but then few places ever were. The place was a shining beacon of manufacturing, after all. New York, perhaps, but she had no special interest in going to New York City.

  After all, she didn't know anyone in New York. Then again, she didn't know anyone in Salt Lake City. Nor did she know anyone a little ways outside of Salt Lake City. She didn't know anyone who would write her a letter, telling her about the new place that the writer had just bought for themselves.

  But Cora Little knew her mother's handwriting, and she knew that the letter had every sign of being from her mother. It hadn't made any sense, since Arthur had always told her that mother was dead. That she had gone West, and gotten killed. They'd had a funeral for her. Cora had cried in spite of herself, in spite of knowing that her mother would have told her not to cry over a little thing like death.

  Death was a journey, she would say. Death isn't the end, you'll meet each other after death in Heaven, so enjoy your life. Your mother wouldn't want to see you crying when she looked down on you from heaven.

  But Cora didn't have the strength her mother had. She'd never had it. At least, she had never had that sort of strength. It had only been through her mother's strength that she made it this far. But at the end, there was no 'Mother,' nor a signature at all. It just rambled about the place she way staying, about her new life.

  As if she had been writing all this time, and was just updating her daughter on only the recent events. No explanation for where she'd gone. For why she'd gone there, why she had left Cora and her brother behind after their father had died all those years ago.

  She needed answers, and she was going to get them, no matter the cost. Cora promised herself that. She would get her answers. Somehow.

  She took in a deep breath and turned to one of the porters pulling her luggage behind. "Excuse me, if I needed to stay a night in town, where would you recommend?"

  He knitted his eyebrows together. "I suppose, for you, I'd look into stayin' at the Royal, ma'am. Finest hotel in Salt Lake City—or so they tell me, ma'am. I ain't never been inside."

  He gave her a broad smile, and she returned it, along with a curt nod. "Can you take me there, please?"

  "Of course, ma'am."

  She followed along. The place, thankfully, wasn't far. She walked in like she had always walked into hotels, like she owned the place. It was somewhat easier when her brother did, indeed, own them, but it wasn't so much different now. She was just here alone, out West.

  She had heard plenty of stories about how bad it was. They were all fairy tales, she knew. There wasn't going to be any danger out here. After all, Salt Lake City seemed only a little bit less advanced than most any place else. Only a few miles outside of Detroit, the farms went on for miles, and they were perfectly safe in Detroit.

  How different could it be?

  She talked to the man behind the counter with her best voice intended to impress. He took her name down without remark and handed over a room key. The porters helped get her luggage up the stairs and into her new room, one night only, single bed for one. Then she paid them, fifty cents a piece. They seemed suitably impressed by this.

  What sweet men, she thought, closing the door. What to do next? Ah, yes. She changed out of her traveling clothes first. No reason to be walking around town in any worse fashion than she had to, after all.

  Once she felt like herself again, Cora headed back downstairs. She wanted nothing more than to sit down on the sofa in her suite, but there was no time for that. She had to make preparations. It had been years since she had heard from her mother, and it might be years more if she hesitated too long.

  She stopped by the desk to as
k for recommendations for a guide into the mountains. She knew nothing about the place, after all, and she certainly knew nothing about mountaineering. The worst they had in Michigan were some terribly impressive hills.

  She was given a list of names, written out, along with addresses where they might be found. She made sure to thank the concierge and tip the man suitably. Martin Littlefeather stood out. Why, their names were so similar; it was as if they were fated to meet. She asked about him specifically.

  "From what we have been told, he's one of the best, ma'am. Willing to take folks up the mountains in some of the worst conditions. Always brings them home safe and sound. Doesn't take to drinking, like some of his race. Everything I have heard has been that he is the absolute picture of professional conduct, in fact."

  She thanked him again, folded the paper up and fitted it into her bag, beside her wallet and room key. Martin Littlefeather, she thought, turning the name over in her head again. He sounded like the perfect choice for her expedition. This early in the season, there was a good chance it would still be snowing on her mother's mountain. The passes would be mostly closed.

  Cora only had to hope that they wouldn't run into too terribly much trouble. After all, any trouble that she got into, her mother would be stuck in already. Stuck with her new family, with her new husband. Perhaps her new daughters.

  Cora tried to settle herself down. It wasn't personal. There was no reason to be hurt by it. Simply because she hadn't heard from the woman in years, and now she had some whole new life, with new people. Simply because she had been discarded. She and her brother both. No reason to get too upset.

  She had already gone so far in order to find her mother. And she had finally received that letter. There was nothing else to be done, but to go and see what it was that her mother had been so excited about. That was all it would be, and then she would be perfectly fine.

  Cora took a breath and waved her hand over her eyes, trying to dry the tears that she could already feel forming. She was about to meet the man who was going to guide her up the mountain. Now wasn't a time to cry. She would have plenty of time for that once she saw her mother again.

  Ten years wasn't so long. It had only been half her life since she saw the woman, ten years since she had left without a word and disappeared from her childrens' lives.

  Cora stopped fanning. There wasn't much point, now that the salty tears were already falling down her cheeks. The meeting with Mr. Littlefeather would have to wait a few minutes more.

  Three

  The first thing Ashton did when he got off the train was to ask where a rich woman would have gone to stay in the city. After all, he assumed that she had no more knowledge of the city than he would. He, then, would only have to think like she did.

  That meant asking someone, and trusting their recommendation. When he walked into the Royal, he did the same thing. Had they had a guest within the past three days, name of Cora Little. The clerk checked the records and informed them that they had, for a single night, the night of the 28th.

  "On the 28th, then. She would have been looking for someone to take her out of town. Do you know who she might have spoken to?"

  "The desk concierge, sir. I believe that day it was Clarke, sir. He's the one there. He's on break, sir."

  Ash left the desk behind and headed over to the bar, where the man sat sipping on what looked like water but might have been alcoholic, and smoking a short hand-rolled cigarette.

  "You're Clarke," Ashton said. It wasn't a question. The man stood up and nodded.

  "Glen Clarke," he said. "Should I find something for you, sir?"

  "I'd appreciate it if you could answer a few questions for me. Please, sit."

  Clarke settled back into his seat, but now he looked stiff and a little bit uncomfortable. Ash might have felt bad for him if he hadn't had to do the same routine before himself. It was only fair that now he was the one making someone else uncomfortable.

  "How can I help you?"

  "Two days ago, you spoke to a woman. Cora Little. She would have been asking about a way out of town. Into the mountains, I believe."

  "A lone woman heading into the mountains?" He furrowed his brow. "That sounds dangerous, no matter the guide."

  "Well, that's why her brother sent me along. Make sure that things went smoothly."

  "Two days is a long time for someone to get into trouble, if you don't mind my saying, sir."

  "Which is why I'm in a hurry, Clarke."

  "Oh—yes. I recall the woman. I believe she was going to speak to Martin Littlefeather. He's a native—"

  "I can tell by the name. Where can I find him?"

  The man gave an address. "Only, if he's taken the woman up the mountain, you might find the place empty."

  "It's something, at least." Ash thanked him for his time and then he was back out the door. The wind was bracing today. Of all days to come into town, he had to pick the day when the wind was picking up unnatural-like. He didn't like it. Didn't like it one bit.

  He would stop by the office. The rake in his pocket would see him inside, if the man didn't have a secretary. If he didn't, then he should get one. Lee was the single best investment that Ashton had ever make. Other, that is, than the Navy revolver on his hip. But that went without saying.

  The place was over a laundry service, so he was at least going to have a good time of getting into the apartment. Ash took a minute to sit and wait for the right moment before heading back up, knocking conspicuously at the door before jamming the rake in, then the torque wrench.

  A little twisting pressure, and a few easy motions, and the door was open. There was a little map of the mountain on the wall, one that must have cost more than a months' rent on a place this size. There were a few pins sticking out. No doubt the route that he would take up the mountain.

  Ash took a mental picture of it and then started out. The concierge, Clarke, had been right. A woman could get herself into plenty of trouble, regardless of the guide she had with her. That went double if he didn't have a lot of hunting experience. The number of pins in the mountain told Ash that whatever experience the man had, it was more in path-finding than in hunting.

  Well, anyone went up on that mountain more than once or twice, Ash knew, they would have run into something. If the man was highly-enough recommended for a rich woman to trust him, then the man had gotten through his share of scrapes.

  If Ashton was lucky, then he would find the girl, free and easy. Then he could just tag along with a good, experienced guide. Maybe he had gotten a bad impression over nothing. Maybe things were all going to work out fine. It wasn't Ashton's experience that things out West went fine. Not ever.

  He put part of his deposit into getting himself a reliable horse. Nothing too flashy, but a horse would be his lifeline out there in the wild. It had been years since Ash had needed to ride a horse. That didn't mean that he didn't still know how. He pushed himself up, pointed the horse toward the mountain, and started going.

  The horse would figure the best way, as long as he kept it pointed in the right direction. For right now, the wind was mixing with the bad mood that he hoped only came from how rushed the job was. He had the revolver loaded properly, but if he needed more than five shots, he didn't want to be left having to prepare new shot.

  He put his head down, reached into his pouch of shot balls and started working. Down in New Orleans, things were mostly quiet. Then again, with a legend like King Peters keeping watch over things, what Devil would think of rearing its head around?

  Well, quiet or not, the man had prepared them for about anything. It wasn't the first time that Ashton had prepared shot for Devil hunting on horseback, but it was still unfamiliar. Strange. Uncomfortable, even. He stopped after two more full loads. If things went very badly, then he would have time to prepare more.

  If things went so bad so fast that nineteen shots couldn't take care of the problem, then more bullets wouldn't help. At that point, it was a choice between praying for a
miracle, and running for the hills. Hunter or not, reputation or not—hell, fifteen thousand dollars or not, it didn't matter what his reputation or his bank account looked like if he wasn't around to enjoy it.

  Ash checked the heading. He referred back to the mental image of the route. He could about imagine how it went, with the view he had of the mountain from the foot of it, and the overhead view that the mapmaker had fixed. It was amazing they'd managed to get even that map finished.

  Ashton almost lost himself for a moment imagining what it must have been like for the team of hunters who would have to have been hired. Peters would have liked that sort of job. Whether he wanted to admit it or not, Ashton knew, he would have liked it, too.

  That was exactly why he needed to stay in the city.

  Four

  It was the first time she'd been on a horse, and even though she'd been doing it for three hours she still wasn't sure that things were going right. The mare below her, thankfully, seemed to know what it was doing—even if she didn't. Cora decided she would just have to trust the horse to do what it wanted.

  That was the advice Martin had given, and he seemed to know what he was doing. His suit was shabby, at least compared to what Cora was used to, but the fact that he wore one this far outside of proper civilization… it was nothing like she had expected from the frontier. Nothing like she'd expected from a native, either, from the stories she had heard back east.

  She took a deep breath of the cold mountain air and reminded herself how inappropriate it was to judge. She'd downright embarrass herself thinking like that.

  The wind was mighty strong, though. She willed the horse to go faster, and to her surprise it did, just a bit. Then it slowed back down again. Cora called out to Martin, who was riding a few feet ahead.

  "Is it usually this windy?"

  He didn't hear her over the wind, so she had to repeat it. Finally he decided to come back over to her, since it was quickly becoming evident that he wasn't going to hear her no matter how loud she shouted.