Alpha Sacrifice (Feast & Famine #1)

by Kinsey Jamison

  Contents

  Title Page

  An Alpha Sacrifice

  Alpha Sacrifice

  Feast & Famine #1

  Kinsey Jamison

  Copyright © 2013 Kinsey Jamison

  All rights reserved.

  All subjects in this ebook are at least age 18 and are not related by blood. Any relation to any real life characters is completely coincidental.

  My alarm interrupts my deep sleep and I awake with a jolt, slamming my palm against the snooze button and tossing the comforter off of my body hastily. 5:30am. Too early for most people to be awake, but today isn’t a normal day. It’s the last day of practice for the Famine Festival, a widespread sporting event in which my group The Exterminators will track down and destroy all paranormal threats in our small town of Winchester, Minnesota. Yeah, it’s kind of a big deal.

  We’ve been training for this all year, destroying Lycans, Faewitches, and Taranticulas with a combination of specialized weapons and superior hunting skills. The Famine Festival has a long and complicated history among the humans of our town, and it’s an honor to be considered one of the top contenders for the winning prize. I’ve worked hard and taken this job seriously — I haven’t missed a single practice and I’m currently tied for the most werewolves taken out. I simply have to win. It’s the only way I’ll be able to repay my mother’s long-standing medical debt and put her mind at ease.

  I lean against my bathroom sink and gaze into the mirror at my ragged reflection. A long pink scar runs across my cheek and my medium-length brown hair looks stringy and dull. I haven’t been eating well lately; just downing whatever sustenance I can get between scrimmages. I spit my toothpaste out, wipe my mouth, and glance down at my cell phone. Four text messages and two missed calls from Angie.

  Angie is my best friend. She’s my training partner, my confidant, my biggest supporter and also the person who consistently gives me the most shit. I need it though, it keeps me on my toes. She’s also perpetually early and if I’m not — then I’m late. I rummage through my laundry basket as fast as I can and slip on a black tank top and a pair of faded black leather pants. My hunting belt is draped over the computer chair and I lift it up and buckle it snugly around my waist. A girl can’t go anywhere without thirteen knives, a revolver, a smoke bomb, a bundle of rope, some gloves, and electrolytes.

  After gulping down a glass of orange juice, I slam the door of my apartment and lock the door. Heading down the hallway, I wonder what sort of exercises we’ll be working on today. I’ve been struggling a bit with my cardio so I speed up to a light jog and decide against driving my beat up Camry to the training grounds. My phone buzzes in my back pocket but I ignore it. Angie can wait the ten minutes it will take me to run a mile and a half.

  The Exterminator headquarters is located just outside the town, separated from the businesses and establishments by a dense pine forest that stretches about a mile across. A winding pine needle path weaves its way through the woods and it’s become one of my favorite runs. The crisp morning air feels great on my bare skin and the crunch of my combat boots against the forest floor is a rhythmic and familiar sound.

  I round the final corner and the clearing lies ahead of me. A few Exterminators dressed all in black are standing around talking to each other, jogging in place and stretching. Angie looks up and jogs over to me, a look of frustration on your face.

  “God, Bianca, could you seriously be any later?” Her voice drops to a whisper. “Every minute I have to spend here alone with him is another moment I want to die.” Angie is nothing if not dramatic.

  “Dude, it’s 5:47am. The sun isn’t fully up, and practice doesn’t even start until six.” I’m winded but not too out-of-breath to engage in conversation. “Besides, I thought you said he was growing on you?”

  “I changed my mind. Rex has gone from flattering to creepy and if I catch him staring at my boobs one more time I may actually cut his eyes out of his skull with my pocketknife.”

  Angie wraps her arm around my shoulders and we walk slowly toward the rest of the group. She is utterly gorgeous and nearly always the object of some guy’s attention. This time it’s Max Burond, a punk rocker with a green mohawk and a garage band. He’s fairly new to The Exterminators, only a C level Puny. Angie wouldn’t be caught dead with someone that low in rank, especially since she is an Angel like me. Of the 22 Exterminators currently in service, only 4 of us are Angels. There’s really nowhere for us to go from here except winning the Famine Festival and bringing glory to ourselves.

  “Exterminators! Stand at attention!”

  At the sound of Malcolm Whisker’s voice, we all rush to stand in formation. Angels are always at the front, followed by Supers, Commons, and then Punys bringing up the rear. Malcolm is intimidating as our leader, but is as talented as all of us combined. He’s been chasing down paranormal for dozens of years, so none of us are about to undermine his authority. The last time that happened, Jasper Rhea was tied up to a tree and used to teach us target practice.

  “Today is the last day of practice. Some of you aren’t anywhere near ready to compete this weekend, and I’m not about to let you make a fool out of us. Spencer, Raegan, Timothy, Helena, and Scotch — the five of you have a lot to prove today or else you’re out. The rest of you will be working on stealth practice.” Malcolm is a tall African American man with a fierce expression on his face at all times. His uniform is solid black and his medals of honor from previous Famine Festivals adorn his jacket. At his side is a whip, and he’s not afraid to use it. “Get to it.”

  I sigh and glance over at Angie.

  “I feel like all we do is stealth practice. It’s my strongest field and I was really hoping we were going to work on Trapping or Climbing instead,” I complain in a concealed volume to Angie.

  “Ugh, not me. I am as stealthy as a bulldog with a stuffy nose. I’m basically just relying on my brute force to nab me some werewolves on Saturday. I’ll be happy to practice sneaking around to see if I can pick up some last minute pointers.” Angie saunters off quickly as if to avoid being followed by her not-so-secret admirer.

  I concentrate hard and felt my body coalesce into a faded version of itself. Stealth is extremely handy. The ability to blend in with my surroundings has always been a talent of mine, even before I joined up with The Exterminators. I’ve never had a personality that really stood out from the crowd, was never the popular kid at school. I quietly sneak into the woods and creep my way through, looking for any sort of prey.

  The paranormal know better than to enter these woods, so much of our practice is done on the local vermin. The Extermination Council spends a ton of money and time on keeping the woods restocked with mice, deer, and raccoons so that we can always keep our skills sharp. I stand without motion behind an oak tree, feeling my breathing grow deeper and more spaced out. Werewolves are incredibly fast so there is no use attacking them outright without some kind of element of surprise. Stealth helps us sneak up on the unsuspecting, such as this adorable little rabbit sniffing and hopping about.

  My vision is perfect and I lock in on the furry brown critter. I see its nose twitching and watch as it scratches its side with a hind leg. With one fluid motion I remove a short dagger from its sheath at my side and fling it at the rabbit. The knife pierces the skull and the bunny lies lifeless. Being an Exterminator isn’t glamorous, and not all of our victims are threatening. It’s one of my least favorite parts of this job, and I’m eager to rank first in the Famine Festival so that I don’t have to practice on vermin anymore.

  “Nice shot.” I spin around to figure out where the male voice came from and see no one behind me. I turn another 90 degrees to t
he right and still cannot find the source of the sound. “That evil thing totally had it coming to him.” The voice continues from behind me again.

  “Where the fuck are you?” I assume that one of my teammates is stealthed and blending in with the forest. It’s extremely uncommon for Exterminators to play tricks on each other during something as important as Famine practice, but I could imagine that douchebag Max doing this kind of thing.

  But it wasn’t an Exterminator. I see a raspberry bush rustle and a young man steps out. I gasp. He’s shirtless and has beads of sweat dripping down his chest and running down over his defined abdomen. He flips his dark blonde hair out of his face and reveals one of the more gorgeous faces I’ve ever seen. His lips are soft and smooth, his jawline chiseled and so very masculine. His eyes…they’re yellow. It’s the trademark of a Lycan.

  “You don’t have to be rude. I am just passing through.” He flashes me a quick smile and I feel an unfamiliar excitement in my gut. I push it away and compose myself.

  “You couldn’t possibly be passing through a worse location. We’re training for this weekend’s festival. These woods are teaming with Exterminators who are just waiting to destroy you. We outnumber you. You will die here,” I stammer. My hand instinctively grips a machete in my hunting belt.

  “Then why aren’t you killing me?” This guy is master of the obvious. He takes a step toward me and I retreat. Everything I’ve been taught is telling me to destroy him. I can smell the musty smell of wolf mixed with the salt of his sweat. His muscles bulge and his whole body rises up and down as he takes each breath. He is strong and powerful, and my enemy.

  “I am going to.” I draw my machete and the mysterious Lycan freezes in place.

  “Whoa there. You don’t really want to do that.” He walks toward me and I feel unable to move. His grip circles my wrist and forces my hand to lower. His body is literally radiating heat and he is so close that I feel the humid mist rising from his skin. His eyes are locked on mine and my body feels weak and timid. Nothing has ever made me feel this way — he must have some kind of power that I’m not capable of resisting.

  “Who are you?” I manage to say despite feeling unable to put words together.

  “My given name is Tristan. My Alpha name is Tristox.”

  I am confused. “Alpha name?” I ask. I’m not even sure why I’m indulging in conversation. I’m so well-trained in martial arts that I could dropkick him and hold him in submission while I incapacitate him. For some reason, I don’t want to. The feeling scares the shit out of me, and goes against everything I have ever learned.

  “Well, obviously you know I’m Lycan. I’m not exactly incognito right now.” He flashes me another one of those irresistible smiles. His teeth are white as pearls and straight. My mind imagines what he has probably done with them, the people he has devoured. “My Order has a sort of ritual. Once a member has been elevated to Alpha level and gained his own pack, he is given a new name as a symbol of his growth into a new stronger being worthy of following.”

  His voice is soft and it has a warmth to it that feels like a caress as he speaks. I loosen my grip on my weapon and he takes it from me, then drops it casually on the ground. My arm drops to my side but Tristan reaches out and grabs it with both of his hands. Our fingers intertwine and we’re standing closer than before. He’s taller than me and from my lower vantage point he feels so strong and capable. Like such a protector.

  “I…I…I should go,” I try to pull away. “My teammates, the Exterminators, if they see me right now I could lose everything.” I shake my hand away abruptly from his and take a step back. The look on Tristan’s face is slightly hurt and it feels like a dagger piercing my soul. I want to take him into my arms and press my lips against his. The sensations that he is causing in me are so unfamiliar that I’m unsure of how to interpret them. But I know that what we’re doing is wrong and I could threaten my entire existence and livelihood if we, I, am discovered.

  “I’ll wait for you,” Tristan states firmly. “I’ve been waiting for you, my mate, for a long time. I’m not about to lose you now.”

  With his words, I watch as Tristan’s muscles bulged and he began to transform. With a low growl his body becomes coated in rough fur and his features morph into animalistic forms of the ones I was admiring moments ago. Claws shoot out from his hands which have become enormous paws, and he lowers himself into all-fours. Before I can say a single word, he whirls around, races into the bushes and disappears with a cloud of dust.

  “His…mate?” I whisper aloud, speaking only to myself. He doesn’t even know my name.

  ***

  I lay in bed and stare up at my speckled ceiling, replaying the events of the day over and over again. This Lycan, this werewolf named Tristan, who was he? Why was he roaming in forbidden territory? Was he looking for me, or was that simply chance? When he said he was ‘waiting for me’ did he actual know who I was, or did he mean he was waiting for his mate? Which Order is he in?

  I know plenty about werewolves, though that was the only encounter I have had that didn’t end in Lycan bloodshed. There are five Orders in Winchester — the Corinths, who are generally diplomatic and agreeable, though still enemies of us humans. The Jackals, who are endlessly joking and causing mischief around town. The Regals who are royal and generally seen as the leaders of the Lycan. The Juveniles, who are young and new to Lycanthropy and generally are the most common casualty based on pure inexperience alone. And finally, the Kixians, the Order most commonly associated with evil wrongdoings such as the murder of innocents. Judging from my interactions today, I’m pretty sure that Tristan was either a Corinth or a Regal, but our conversation wasn’t long enough for me to inquire.

  He mentioned that he’s an Alpha, which means that he must have passed the Rituals of his Order in order to graduate to a more esteemed status. Lycans are moved up over time as well, but Tristan certainly wasn’t old enough to have been grandfathered in. He looked no older than me — 21 or 22 at the oldest.

  God, why am I spending so much time thinking about this? I fidget underneath the covers and feel a wetness growing between my legs. I can’t possibly lie with him, but would it harm me at all to imagine being together? I picture that tanned washboard abdomen again and I see the veins in his hefty biceps. I slip my hand between my legs inside my flannel pajama pants and stroke myself lightly. I imagine being shoved with my back up against a tree out there in the woods, his hand jammed down inside my leather pants while his hot breath moistens my neck. Those eyes that penetrated my soul today are pleading with me, begging me to let him enter me. I feel his thickness spreading me apart as I finger myself gently, imagining the taste of his lips and the wetness of his tongue.

  Is this what it’s going to be like? Am I forever going to have to imagine what it might feel like instead of actually being able to taste and feel him? I feel myself drifting off to sleep, comforted by the thought of Tristan’s body pressed up against mine.

  ***

  “Alright girl, you totally got this.” Angie leans over and whispers in my ear. It’s the day, the Famine Festival is finally here and Angie knows that I have a better shot of winning than anyone. Well, I did, before this complete and utter distraction took over my life. The last few days I have been pushing Tristan out of my mind, focusing on the biggest moment of my life. All of the early betting has been tallied, and Winchester has firmly declared me as the favorite, with 2-to-1 odds. A lot of money is at stake and my reputation is on the line. It would be the mistake of my life to throw it all away for some sort of immature puppy love.

  We line up at the starting gate and I think about all the work that I’ve done to get here. Years and years of rigorous physical and mental training. A complete body transformation as I formed muscles in places I didn’t know even could. I look out at the forest in front of me. This isn’t a scrimmage, and we’re not on home turf anymore. Honor Woods is the place where all sorts of paranormal inhabit, and we’re in their territory now.
No one knew exactly what we’d encounter, which is what made the Famine Festival so intriguing as a spectator sport. Overhead blimps and helicopters dotted the sky, their aerial view allowing the best shots for videography. The Famine Festival would be broadcasted all over the state, our lives simply transformed into a form of entertainment for the watching.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” a mustached announcer broadcasts over a squeaking loudspeaker. “Today is the 55th running of the Famine Festival, in which the fierce and noble Exterminators will be doing an en masse culling of the Paranormal of Honor Woods. Serpenticulm, Faewitches, Lycan, Vamps, and god-knows-what awaits our brave heroes on this date. We wish them luck and success today on racking up the highest personal count of paranormal killed. It’s every Exterminator for themselves out there today — no friends, no partners, no helping each other. Today you will prove your personal strength and domination. Go forth and slay today, Exterminators, and may you return in one piece.”

  I look over nervously at Angie, who is chewing on her fingernails. “Good luck Angie.”

  She blinks and reaches out and squeezes my hand. “Good luck Bianca. Return safe, and with the highest kill count.”

  I smile at her and the pistol shot rings out, signifying the beginning of the 12 hour Famine Festival. I gulp, and tear off into the Honor Woods with my weapons bumping against my side.

  ***

  It’s hour 4, and I’m covered in sweat, dirt, and grime. The kill counts are updated regularly on a banner in the sky being pulled by a jet. I just bagged my 17th kill, a young female Faewitch who had been snoozing in an unlucky location. Angie is in second place with 9 total kills, and her creep Max just killed a Lycan for his 5th kill of the Festival. Already there were 3 casualties within the Exterminators, but I wasn’t close to any of those who died. It’s always sad, but expected during an event like this.