Alpha Wolf (Shifter Falls Book 4)

by Amy Green

  “I forgot,” he said. “I think you’re a wolf sometimes. Come here.”

  He hefted her piggyback onto his back, his hands hooked under her knees, and kept walking. Alison clung to his jacketed shoulders, caught between excitement and almost total fear. She was touching him, even though it was through layers of clothing, her whole front against his whole back. His lower back was between her legs. She could feel him move, feel the smooth play of muscle down his back and through his hips as he climbed. It was awesome. And at the same time, whatever it was was so important he was carrying her up the mountain to see it. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know what that was.

  It took him nearly half an hour, but at last he broke through the trees and climbed to a ridge with a clearing. He set her down without a word. He wasn’t even winded, of course. For a werewolf, that was a leisurely stroll.

  “Okay,” he said, turning her. “Look.”

  She did.

  7

  He watched her take it in. This was his favorite place, his secret place, the place he always came alone. He’d never brought anyone here before.

  On the other side from the incline they’d climbed, the ridge fell sharply away, leaving a wide-open vista. In the middle of that vista was Shifter Falls, far below them now, a small grid of yellow lights. Surrounding the Falls were the mountains, cupping the town like the palm of a hand. It was dusk now, and the mountains were turning the majestic gray-purple that always took his breath away.

  Coming and going from the Falls were a few roads, as small as hairpins from here, leading to neighboring towns and eventually to Denver. He could see the lights of a car winking far below on one of the two-lane blacktops, heading into town.

  The wind blew sharp and cold, lifting Alison’s red hair as she watched. She was transfixed. “Oh, my god,” she said softly.

  He knew she would appreciate it. Some part of him had known. Still, he saw that she was shivering, even through her coat, so he took off his own coat and put it over her shoulders, wrapping it around her. The cold didn’t affect him, and he still felt heat from when she’d been against his back. Or maybe he was just imagining that.

  He kept his arms in place when the coat was wrapped around her, holding it. Holding her, even though it was through so many layers. He allowed himself that much. Gave it to himself as a gift.

  “Listen,” he said to her. “This is where I come when I want to remember.”

  “Remember what?” she asked. She had stopped shivering, had gone still in his arms. He felt her body relax.

  He lifted one arm and pointed to the town. “Down there,” he said, “people go about their business. They see those houses, those streets, the faces of the people they meet. That’s their view.” He lifted his hand, indicating the entire expanse of land and mountains. “This, though,” he said as a strand of her hair tickled his cheek, “is the alpha’s view. It has to be. He has to be looking at bigger things. Things that might take years, or even dozens of years. Things that no one else can see.”

  She was quiet for a long minute, taking it in. “Why are you telling me this?” she asked.

  “Because if you want to be with an alpha,” he said, laying it out there, “if you want to be with me, then you have to understand what I’m looking at. What I’m seeing in my head. What I have no choice but to see. And you have to be able to see it, too.” He paused. “But I don’t think you want to be with me,” he finished. “It kills me, but I don’t.”

  She was breathing shallow. He could practically feel her heart beating through the layers of clothes. “It’s what I want,” she said, her voice clear. “It’s always been what I want. Do you remember the first time we met? It was a pack meeting. I was twelve, and you were seventeen.”

  “I remember,” he said. He did. He’d forgotten a lot of things, and missed a lot of things, but that he remembered. “Your father introduced us.”

  “I knew then,” she said. “You didn’t. Maybe you still don’t. I can’t tell.”

  “I was slow,” he said. “My wolf has known for years, but my wolf is my enemy, and I didn’t believe him. So yes, Alison, it is you. It has always been you. It will always be you.” He watched tears fill her eyes, but they didn’t fall. “But we can’t be together.”

  “Yes we can,” she said. That steel-strong vulnerability he admired so much. “Why do you say that? It’s because of me, isn’t it? Your wolf wants me, but you don’t.”

  “I want you so much my blood burns with it,” he said. “I can barely keep my control.” She sucked in a breath. “But there’s a reason. I told you, my wolf is my enemy.”

  “Yes,” she said.

  “This is why,” he said. “I killed my father. I killed Charlie, my alpha. I walked into his room at night, when no one knew I was there. I pinned him down as he slept and put an ice pick in the base of his skull at the back of his neck, up into his brain. It took him three minutes to die, and then I put his head back on the pillow and I walked out again. The coroner covered it up, said he died of natural causes, but it was me—and my wolf.” He held his hands out, his arms still around her so his hands were in front of her. Killer’s hands. “I’ve never felt a minute of guilt. Not one. My mother died in agony while I watched—that was Charlie’s work. I hated him with all of my black soul, and I killed him. That is the man who is your mate. I’ve broken the first rule of my kind, Alison. I killed a shifter, my own kin. I should have been banned years ago, put to death by my brothers. I shouldn’t even be touching you now.”

  Tears were falling down her face, her cheeks wet with them. She said the words that sliced him open. “I’m not afraid of you, Brody Donovan.”

  He backed away from her. “I’ll take you down,” he said, “and then you can go home.”

  8

  “You’re not eating,” her mother said.

  Alison picked at the steak on her plate. She thought she’d been eating, but now that she looked, she realized she hadn’t. She hadn’t been paying attention. Her stomach was in knots.

  It was two days after the day on the ridge, and she hadn’t been back to Brody’s house. She hadn’t called him. And he hadn’t called her, probably because he thought it was over and done. Whatever had begun between them was dead now.

  I’ve broken the first rule of my kind, Alison. I killed a shifter, my own kin.

  It was horrifying. The good man she’d known since she was twelve was nothing like she thought. She’d always known he was tough, strong, dangerous when backed into a corner. But she had never thought he was a killer.

  I pinned him down as he slept and put an ice pick in the base of his skull at the back of his neck, up into his brain.

  “Alison?” her father said.

  She looked up at him. He was watching her with concern—the special kind of concern shifters were capable of, because they could sense more than humans could. She didn’t know exactly what her father sensed from her right now, but her best guess was apprehension and nervousness. And maybe misery.

  If he could scent misery, she probably reeked.

  “What is it?” her father asked.

  She gave him as much truth as she could. “I can’t say,” she said. “I just can’t.”

  He leaned back in his chair, his thoughts moving behind his shifter’s gaze. “It’s Brody.”

  “It isn’t what you think.” No, he hadn’t made inappropriate advances. He hadn’t tried to sleep with her. Maybe it would never happen now. She thought of that with a wrench in her gut. She’d never sleep with Brody, never sleep with anyone. At this rate, she’d die an old maid.

  “You don’t know what I think,” her father returned gently. “You’ve been happy working for him for three weeks, and now something’s happened.”

  “If it’s pack business, honey, you don’t have to tell us,” her mother added. “We understand.”

  Of course they did. Alison put down her fork. Stared at nothing.

  For two days, she’d sat in her house alone. Thinking no
thing. Watching television, eating toast, sleeping hours at a time. She’d been lost in a fog. Brody had killed his own father, and she was the only one who knew. The only one.

  It felt like a burden, and she realized now what he lived with every day. That knowledge. What did it mean, that the man she loved was a murderer? She couldn’t sort through her own feelings. Did it mean she was afraid of him? Did it mean she thought he would do it again?

  Charlie had killed Brody’s mother. Was it simply a matter of justice? Was there any justification for putting an ice pick in a man’s head while he was sleeping?

  Did it mean he should be banned from the pack by his brothers, or even executed, like he’d said? Put to death—those were his words. Brody, put to death. The thought hurt her so much she made a little sound in her throat. But if it didn’t happen, if he just continued, was he a danger? And if she let him, was it her fault?

  A hand reached out and took hers. Her father’s hand. She’d been sitting here in silence at the dinner table for God knew how long, but that didn’t matter to him. Shifters didn’t need to make senseless conversation all the time. They were capable of sitting in silence, thinking, even when they were in social situations. Capable of watching each other and communicating without words.

  “Baby girl,” her father said softly.

  Alison took a breath. “Dad, have you ever seen a pack execution?”

  He blinked in surprise at the question, but answered. “A few times. The last one was the day Brody became alpha.”

  She remembered that. After Charlie’s death, there had been an attempted coup from within the pack. The rogue wolf had kidnapped Anna, Ian’s mate, in a play to make Ian show weakness. Instead, Ian and his brothers had united behind Brody as their new alpha in a show of strength—right after Ian had executed the rogue wolf by snapping his neck.

  She hadn’t been there that day. She’d been in the diner, listening to everyone talking about it. Silently shocked that the Donovan brothers had taken her advice about which of them should be their leader.

  The execution itself was upsetting, but Alison was a Falls girl. That was how wolves were—when they had to dominate and show power, they didn’t hesitate. Because the wolf who hesitated was always the dead wolf. What wolves understood deep in their bones was that sometimes it truly was kill or be killed.

  I’ve never felt a minute of guilt. Not one.

  Kill or be killed.

  She started to think that Brody hadn’t told her everything two days ago. In fact, she was sure of it.

  Damn him.

  She patted her father’s hand, and her fingers brushed the scar on the back of it. She screwed up her courage and said, “I have another question.”

  “What is it?” her father asked.

  “This scar.” She ran her finger lightly over it. “When I was a kid, you told me not to ask. But I’m not a kid now, Dad, and it’s important. I’m asking.”

  He frowned. “Okay. It just wasn’t a story I wanted to tell a little girl, that’s all.”

  “I’m going to the kitchen,” her mother said abruptly, pushing back her chair and leaving the room. Alison stared after her in surprise.

  “Your mother doesn’t like this story,” her father explained. “I’m going after her, so I’ll make this quick. When you were about five, Charlie assigned me to follow a man he considered his enemy. The reason doesn’t matter now. What matters is that I was assigned to keep an eye on the man, and he slipped away when I wasn’t looking. I failed.”

  Alison was still, listening.

  “As punishment, my alpha called me to a back room in the Dirty Den. He had me put my hand on the table, and he took out a hunting knife and dug it in. He drew the blade just along here.” He traced his finger along the silver line of scar that bisected the back of his hand. “He severed nerves, bones.”

  “Oh, my god,” Alison said.

  “Wolves heal,” her father continued. “Even nerves and bones. We scar, but we heal. This injury was so bad that it took hours.” He flexed his hand, clenching into a fist and out again with no problem. “I’ve never felt such agony in my life. But it wasn’t the injury that was the punishment. It was the words he said to go with it.”

  “What words?” Alison asked.

  Her father flexed his hand again, spreading the fingers, then clenching them into a fist. Out, then in again. “While he drew the knife through me, he said, Next time you fail, this will be your daughter’s throat.”

  She felt the blood drain from her face.

  “I hated him forever for those words,” her father said softly, “even as I did his bidding. And I did his bidding, every time, even after that. Because he meant it.”

  “Dad,” Alison breathed.

  He raised his eyes to hers. Her father wasn’t an alpha, but in that minute his eyes were almost silver, as if his wolf was looking at her. “The day Charlie died was the best day this town has ever seen,” he said. “I thank God for that day every minute of my life.”

  She met his gaze, stared back at him. Kill or be killed, she thought.

  Next time, this will be your daughter’s throat.

  Kill or be killed.

  “I have to go,” she said, and pushed her chair back from the table.

  9

  He was home. There was a light on in the living room, yellow in the darkness as she pulled into the driveway. His SUV was parked there, too. She stared through the cold rain coming down at that yellow light.

  He was home. In the living room, maybe. She couldn’t see in from here, because the big windows in the living room faced the back of the house. But she could guess.

  She got out of her car and walked up the drive, ducking out of the rain. She was wearing a coat, but her legs were bare beneath the shirtdress she’d thrown on to have dinner with her parents, and her canvas sneakers were wet by the time she got to the covered front porch. She shook herself off and banged on the door. “Brody, it’s me.” Stupid, because he probably knew. Knew she was here, knew who she was.

  He opened the door. He was wearing jeans, a black t-shirt, bare feet. His hair was mussed. Even from where she stood in the darkness, she could see shadows under his eyes.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” she said over the increasing sound of the rain.

  His gaze burned into her. “Tell you what?”

  “You told me you killed him,” she said, worry and anger and fear balled together in her throat. “Like it was a decision. Like you just decided to commit murder because of your mother, because that’s who you are. You let me think that for two days. And you didn’t tell me why.” She stepped forward, closer to him. “Who was he going to kill, Brody? Because that’s why you did it, isn’t it? That’s why you chose that night. So why didn’t you tell me?”

  His dark eyes blazed, and he grabbed her arm and pulled her into the house. “Come here,” he said roughly, closing the door behind her. He moved her back and pinned her to the closed door, his cheekbones sharp in the shadows. “How the hell do you know?” he said in a voice close to a wolf’s growl, looming over her, his hand still on her upper arm. “How can you fucking know? Everyone who knew is dead. Tell me who told you, Alison. Tell me now.”

  “No one told me!” she cried. Even like this, even alone in the dark with him, with this angry mood of his, she wasn’t afraid of him. She lifted her chin and stared back into his eyes. “I’m not an idiot, that’s all. It took me two days, but I figured it out myself.”

  “Do not mess with me, Alison,” he said.

  “Who do you think you’re talking to?” she said. She thumped her palm on his chest, but he didn’t budge. She may as well have tried to move granite. “Brody, I’m pack. Where do you think I’ve been living for the past twenty-four years? I lived under Charlie’s rule just like you did. I watched my father come home with a haunted look in his eyes and a scar on his hand. I worked in the Four Spot every day and heard about what went on. The rumors about your mother, and all the other rumors, too. I k
now, Brody.”

  He was silent, his dark gaze consuming her.

  “People have started to breathe again since Charlie died,” she continued. “I see that, too, in the diner. People talk more freely, laugh more often, come in with their kids. No one is shedding a tear over their old alpha, believe me. Your brothers aren’t going to banish you or put you to death, either, because they hated him as much as you did. So tell, me, Brody. Who was Charlie going to kill?”

  She watched a muscle tick in his jaw, and then the words ground out. “All of us,” he said. “My brothers and me. We were slated for execution. There was a plan.”

  Alison stared at him. “He was going to have his sons killed?”

  “No,” Brody said. “He wasn’t going to have us killed. He was going to do it himself. He was going to put us down one by one. Me last, of course. Because he wanted me to watch the first three die. Just like he did with my mother.” He paused. “Charlie snapped her neck, did you know that? With his own hands. As an example to me. She begged him to let her live. She begged him for mercy.”

  Alison put a hand to her mouth. She was barely able to listen to the words—but Brody had had to watch it. And then he’d had to deal with it, alone.

  “That isn’t all,” Brody said. “He had plans for after we were dead. He was going to expand pack territory. Specifically, into Grant County.”

  Grant County was the neighboring county, populated entirely by humans. “What are you talking about?” Alison said.

  “He was planning an attack on the humans,” Brody said. “To get them out of the county once and for all and take over the land as Donovan territory. He had it worked out, step by step, exactly how he was going to do it.”