Wanted by the Alphas (An Extremely Sensual Paranormal Shifter Romance)

by Dawn Steele

  “It’s more private here,” states Lucien.

  They take their seats on the farthest table, which is situated right against a wall. The folded ‘napkins’ are actually menus, Shannon discovers.

  “Fish soup?” she asks, trying not to wrinkle her nose.

  He notices and laughs. “I’ll share one with you. Trust me, it’s divine.”

  Twenty minutes later, she is inclined to agree. The fish ‘soup’ is actually a huge, thick broth filled with mussels, clams, fish, vegetables and so many flavors that it is practically bursting with taste. The soup is served with crusty bread, and Shannon swears she has never eaten anything more hearty or delicious in her life.

  “I think I’m already full,” she declares when she has finished her fourth piece of bread.

  “We haven’t even gotten to the entrees yet.”

  “I know,” she says in dismay. “Can I cancel mine?”

  He laughs. “We can do a doggy bag.”

  The entrees are grilled chicken breast on polenta for her and a rich tomato-based cream pasta for him. Shannon can only eat half of hers before pushing her plate away.

  “That fish soup really did me in,” she groans.

  “You are a woman of small appetites.” He grins. “I hope that only pertains to food.”

  Again, she catches the double entrende. He has been flirting with her all night, dropping hints in their casual conversation. Letting his eyes roam to her breasts now and again. Letting her know how much he is drinking in the sight of her. It is extremely flattering and yet disappointing.

  Is this all men see me as? she wonders.

  But the talk all evening has been extremely pleasant. They chat about small things, inconsequential things. She asks about his family. He tells her amusing anecdotes. She laughs. He asks about her family. She tells him it’s too personal and fobs him off. He accepts this graciously.

  “Do you want dessert?” he asks as their dining draws to a close.

  “Oh no.” She shakes her head vehemently. “I’m stuffed up to here.” She raises her palm to the level of her throat.

  “Great. I’m kind of stuffed too.” He signals to a waiter. “Check, please.”

  “You have to pay to dine at your own restaurant?”

  “It helps keep the accounts clean.”

  Once he has signed the bill, he gets up and offers her his arm. “Shall we?”

  “Where are we going?” She wonders if he will ask her to go to his suite.

  “You like gardens. So I thought we’d take a walk in this one. It’s still light out there and it’s a glorious sunset.”

  “Thanks for dinner.”

  “Night isn’t over yet.” His eyes say: Not by a long shot, if I can help it.

  They grab their jackets and go out into the reception. It is a lot quieter now that the wedding party has gone up to the ballroom. The lack of raucous noise is a balm. She fleetingly wonders what her brother is doing.

  “You warm enough?” he asks.

  “Yes.”

  He puts his arm around her anyway. His embrace sends tingles all over her skin under two layers of clothing. She can smell his sweet manly scent, which is not enhanced by any cologne or eau d’ toilette. There is something else other than man musk there. It is an undertone of something more forbidding. Primal. Dangerous.

  The garden in twilight is even more glorious than its initial promise. Carefully pruned bushes are shaped in spheres and lambs and rabbits. Crazy paving forms paths around the greenery. A profusion of flowers in full bloom – roses, azaleas, others native to this region – are laid in careful precision to make the greatest color impact to the eye.

  Shannon’s spirits soar. She dances away from Lucien and soaks in every glorious sight. He laughs at her delight.

  “This is gorgeous!” she exclaims as she spins round and round to take everything in. She feels like a little girl again. “I have never seen anything more gorgeous!”

  “I thought that would be me, but I’ll settle for being second best.” He smiles.

  In twilight, all the colors are muted, but they take on a sleepy hue, as if she is viewing everything through tinted glasses.

  “We have a maze,” he announces.

  “A maze?”

  “Yes. Very English, I know. It’s a small one. Come, I’ll show you.”

  He shepherds her further down. Here, the garden is fringed by the forest – dark, mysterious and watchful. The forest spreads up the hills for as far as the eye can see. A small shiver of foreboding spears her.

  Bad things happen in that forest. She can feel it in her bones.

  “Hey, you OK?” he asks.

  She shakes herself out of it. Bad things happen in every forest.

  She wonders where Jared is.

  “Sure. I’m just a little cold, that’s all.” She pulls her jacket tightly over her dress.

  He is all protective again. His arm goes around her and the heat of his body once again brushes against her skin. He is nice and warm, like a shielded furnace. She knows she should not be close to him for too long or she will get burned.

  The opening to the maze is an arched doorway made out of hedge. The entire maze has walls of hedges towering seven feet high so that anyone inside will be not be able to peer over the top unless he were over seven feet tall.

  “I had this designed so that even I won’t be able to peek,” Lucien explains.

  “I take it that you know this maze like the back of your palm?”

  “That I do. Come in. It’s well-lighted in there and there are surprises to be found at every corner.”

  “Really?” She is intrigued.

  They enter the maze. The corridors here are narrow, but can be traversed by two people who are walking side to side. Lucien is right. Garden lamps are placed on the ground in every bend and curve to light the way for the maze-crawler.

  After the first few bends, the maze starts to branch out into several options. You can go right or left. You take a path. This path further branches into a right or left.

  “Look, the first surprise.” Lucien points at the stone statue of a fairy at the turn of a bend. “There are clues carved at the base of every surprise. You’ll have to collect them all to discover what the message is in the end.”

  “Clues?” This is getting interesting, she thinks.

  “Yes.”

  They come up to the fairy. It is a delicate stone sculpture. To her surprise, the fairy is male – naked with a fig leaf covering his privates and wings sprouting behind his back. She is amazed at how exquisitely his face has been crafted. The statue comes up to her breasts. The fairy’s stone orbs are empty and they stare unseeing.

  “See if you can find the clue,” Lucien says.

  She studies the statue and bends down to look at its base. The statue is lighted by a low lamp on the ground. She supposes the whole maze is wired down there.

  “I don’t see anything.”

  “Look closer.”

  Her eyes scan the base, and then she sees it.

  A symbol. It resembles a snail with a long body.

  “Is it a snail?” she asks.

  “Horned Viper, actually. It is ancient Egyptian.”

  “You mean hieroglyphs?” Her excitement mounts.

  “Yes.” He laughs at her enthusiasm. “I did tell you I have a creative horticulturist.”

  “Wow.” She digs into her purse for her cellphone. “I will have to snap photos of this so that I can remember every clue.”

  “Good call. Beats the old pen and notepad.”

  He watches her amusedly – taking pleasure in her delight – as she focuses her phone camera aperture at the base of the statue to snap a photo of the horned viper.

  “What else is there?” she asks eagerly.

  “You lead the way.”

  The maze continues, and she feels completely safe in here with Lucien to bail her out should she lose her way. The maze is larger than she thought possible, and she is sure she has not been
down any path twice.

  The ‘surprises’ come in the form of statues – nymphs, sprites, fauns, satyrs. The ‘clues’ she has collected now form a veritable list:

  A leg.

  A hand.

  A leaf.

  Another leaf.

  A wave, or at least, a blue wavy line denoting a wave.

  Another hand.

  An open mouth.

  What does it all mean?

  “Have I got everything?” she asks Lucien.

  “Pretty much. I’m not supposed to be helping you solve this, but there’s one more clue.”

  “Then we’ll have to find it,” she says, laughing.

  She is the one leading him this time. She figures they must be somewhere at the end of the maze, because she can see the dark forest looming closer than it did before. The sky has gotten considerably darker as well, something she hasn’t noticed because she was so preoccupied with finding the clues. Dark clouds scud across the horizon and a chill descends.

  “It’s getting colder,” he remarks. “You want to go in?”

  “And not finish the puzzle? No way!”

  He grins. In the burgeoning darkness, his face shines like a pale moon – all angles and completely and dazzlingly beautiful.

  “All right. But we should be getting in soon. Looks like another storm coming. A big one this time.”

  She shivers. “Does it always rain so much here?”

  “In this particular region? Yes. This town is situated on a vortex of trade winds and it has its own micro-environment. It’s complicated, but if you are interested to learn more about it, there’s a natural history museum here. It’s not very big, but it contains a lot of interesting things about this region.”

  Yes, she would be interested in that. Dolphin’s Bay is beginning to be a lot more interesting than she initially thought it would be.

  She notices that he doesn’t offer to take her to the museum. It is because he doesn’t intend to see her again after tonight, of course. She keeps reminding herself about that fact, and that she doesn’t and shouldn’t care. But somewhere at the corner of her psyche, it rankles.

  Nevertheless, she has a maze to finish.

  Turning her face away from him so that he will not see her sudden cloud of disappointment, she delves into the next part of the maze.

  “Hey, wait up,” he says, laughing.

  She stops short, and he almost bumps into her back. She stares at the final statue at the end of the leafy passage.

  “What’s that?” she finally says.

  He is staring too. He doesn’t speak. The statue is that of a witch. Or at least, a witch in folklore garb – with robes and a tall pointed hat and a broomstick. But the statue of the witch is not placed upon the ground like the others. This one would have come to her midriff as well, like the others, had it been so.

  But now it is hanging by its neck from a rope which has been fashioned into a noose. The end of the rope has been tied to a protruding metal stick which has been stuck into the hedge. Shannon can only imagine the weight of the statue and the counterbalance on the other side to keep it hanging that way.

  Even as she watches, the rope is beginning to fray.

  “Is this meant to be the surprise?” she asks cautiously.

  “No.”

  His tone is sharp this tone, but she knows it is not directed at her.

  The light allows her to see the inscription at the square base of the statue.

  The inscription is that of a rope fashioned in the shape of a noose.

  Lucien strides to the statue. He is visibly upset. He seizes the stone witch by the waist and wrenches it away from the rope. She already knows how strong he is, and so she is not surprised to see him successfully do this. The rope breaks away at its weakest point, and the metal rod is jerked downward, rustling and snapping the branches of the hedge wall.

  Lucien sets the statue on the ground. He is bristling with anger. He grabs the noose and flings it off the neck of the witch.

  “What is it?” she asks, frightened.

  He composes himself. She can see the emotions struggling on his face.

  “It is nothing,” he says. “Come away, Shannon.”

  He grabs hold of her arm and leads her away from the statue. She turns to gaze at it. The witch’s face is just as exquisitely fashioned as the rest, and it appears to wear a saddened expression. Or maybe it is just the play of the growing shadows.

  They exit the maze, her mind in a whirl. There is so much she wants to ask him. Obviously, the statue was not hung there by his design. Who did that? And what does it mean?

  Once they are away from the maze and back in the gardens, he calms down.

  “I’m sorry you had to see that,” he says.

  “Are you all right, Lucien?”

  “Yes. I am.” He says this as much to assure himself as her, she senses. “Come, let’s go into the hotel.”

  He puts his arm around her again, and she is glad for his embrace in a different way this time. Once they are inside the reception, the wedding party is in full force again. The guests are trooping down the stairs from the second level, where the ballroom is situated. The laughter and gaiety and finery help put Shannon at ease. It is as though the whole incident of the maze didn’t happen.

  She has her last clue.

  Hanging rope.

  Pieced together, it would have to mean something. But she doesn’t dare ask Lucien what it means tonight. Not with what happened.

  He pauses for a while as a stream of giggling bridesmaids dressed in identical green gossamer gowns troop past them. Then he turns to her.

  “Would you like to come up to my suite for some coffee?”

  His beautiful face is solemn. Whatever demons which had passed through his head have clearly been exorcised.

  The suggestion is unmistakable.

  Do I really want to do this? she asks herself.

  The events of the day and night are starting to take a toll on her now. The accident, arriving at Dolphin’s Bay, the arm-wrestling duel, meeting Lucien Walker, the wonderful dinner and its aftermath at the maze. She’s tired, despite her afternoon nap, but also in need of refuge. And if she were to be honest with herself, she does not want to return to her hotel suite alone – although that would be the best alternative.

  She is certain Jared isn’t there anyway. He has probably gone out to explore whatever it is he is compelled to explore.

  Tomorrow, they would have to look for a place to live. A rental apartment, perhaps. Or maybe even a little cottage. Hopefully one with a garden. They have lots of money to tide them over. The taken money had been a final act of vengeance by Jared for what those people back at Tupelo did to her.

  But tonight has been almost magical up to the final point. And she doesn’t want it to end, even though she knows it will.

  “OK,” she replies.

  “Shannon, you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”

  “I’m not doing anything I don’t want to.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yes,” she says with more confidence than she feels. Her stomach is all fluttery again, as though batwings are brushing its lining.

  “Great. Then let’s go.”

  He leads her to a row of elevators. The doors hiss open and a staid elderly couple gets out. They both favor the attractive young pair with an approving glance.

  Once the elevator doors have closed behind them and they are alone, Lucien grabs her waist.

  “Luc – ” she begins, but he cuts her off with a kiss that takes her breath completely away.

  His lips are supple and soft and hard and pliant all at the same time, and she is transported to a higher plane of existence where the clouds are soft and white and bad things never happen to beautiful people. His tongue thrusts between her lips, seeking entry. She opens her mouth and lets him in. The thrill of the contact tumbles from her abdomen to her toes and back again.

  With their intimacy raised to another l
evel, his hands move around her waist to stroke her back. And down, further down, until he is cupping her buttocks. He is so tall compared to her, and he has to bend down to envelop her entire body.

  She does not protest. Her heart is slamming against her ribs in thunderous applause until it jars her entire body and reverberates in her skull. Her loins are on fire and her core suddenly goes moist. Her entire body is heated up by several notches.

  God, I want him so badly. It has been so long . . . so long.

  The elevator doors hiss open again. They are on the top floor, and corridor opens up before them en route to his suite.

  He breaks off the kiss.

  “This way,” he says huskily.

  “Yes,” she says, her hand grasped in his larger one.

  Together, they make their way to his suite.

  NIGHT

  One night.

  If I can have this one night, I’ll be satisfied for a long, long time.

  That thought traverses her brain as once inside his suite, she falls into his strong, strong arms. Swiftly, they undress each other – shucking off shoes, jackets, shirts, belts, dresses. He fumbles at the clasp of her lacy white brassiere. She fumbles at his pants.

  Off comes their underwear. Their clothes fall into a crumpled heap on the floor. She is seized by lust. Their lips voraciously devour each other’s, and the kisses become more frantic.

  He has such a beautiful, amazing body. She scarcely has enough time to pause and admire him. But in coming up for air between kisses, she manages to note his sculptured torso – every muscle a work of art. Her hands roam all over his smooth flesh. There is not a blemish she can feel, not a scar in sight. How is it that a man can be so perfect?

  His erection is even larger in proportion to the rest of him. He scoops her up in his arms as if she is a toy and carries her to his bedroom. She barely has time to register her surroundings – yellow lamps, masculine décor with lots of clean lines and wood furniture, wood paneling on the walls interspersed by wall panel lights. Art pieces depict scenes from the forest and hills of the Pacific Northwest with its stormy coastal waters and streaked sky.

  He throws her onto the bed. She is a little frightened of his size, and he catches her gazing at his penis.