Alpha Blood Box Set (BBW Werewolf / Shifter Romance)

by Mac Flynn

  I had a hard time holding back the deep, agonizing sorrow that welled up inside of me. Luke was-is, I corrected myself-my mate and I’d left him behind to fight the battle alone. Orders or no orders, I still felt awful. This was our first real parting, too, and the lack of a warm, fuzzy body next to me was distinctly noted. I curled up into a small ball and felt every bump and thump as we drove along the road farther and farther from my mate.

  The cheerful circumstances got even better when the truck coughed and wheezed, and slowed to a crawl. I raised my head, wiped the tear trails from my cheeks, and glanced into the cab. “What’s wrong?” I asked Rick.

  “We’re almost out of gas, and I’m afraid she’s given just about all she’s got on miles,” Rick replied.

  Another ten miles on the back roads of Manutia and the truck sputtered to a stop, never to move again. I swear I heard the muffler drop to the ground, signaling its death. Steve and Rick climbed out of the cab, and I from the bed, and we stood in a line and looked at the beat-up vehicle. The sides were more dents than straight metal, and smoke fumed from under the hood. The tires were half deflated and the cab-well, the cab looked as filthy as always.

  Rick walked up to the passenger side, opened the door and leaned in. His lip quivered as he lovingly stroked the dirty dashboard, leaving finger imprints. “Goodbye, old girl. I won’t forget would you’ve done for me all these years.”

  Steve glanced back at the road we came down. “Shouldn’t we be hurrying? I mean, won’t they follow the scent of this old thing and find us and kill us?” he pointed out.

  Rick turned and glared at him. “Quiet. Can’t you see I’m trying to mourn here?” he growled.

  “He’s right. They’ll track the scent of the fumes, or the leaking oil,” I agreed as I pointed at the dripping black tar beneath the body of the vehicle.

  Rick snarled, but stopped his mourning and folded down the front seat. I now had my first glimpse of Rick’s secret stash of Uzis, silver bullets, shotguns, and rifles. He pulled out straps and boxes of bullets and piled them on the ground. Rick snatched a large, double-barreled shotgun from the stash, turned to us, and pumped it. The familiar chu-chink of the bullet loaded into the chamber sent shivers down my spine. “If they do catch up to us they’ll regret it.”

  “Which they will because we don’t know where we’re going,” Steve pointed out.

  Rick turned to me. “You’re the only werewolf we’ve got now, so we’ll follow your sniffer.”

  My eyes widened and I held up my hands in front of me. “Wait a minute here. This sniffer isn’t trained enough to go across country,” I argued.

  “Don’t matter. It’s all we’ve got,” he countered.

  I waved my hands at the open fields and patches of wilderness around us. “I don’t even know where I’m supposed to be leading us.”

  “Some place where we can get some help would be nice,” Steve spoke up.

  “For once the boy’s right. This thing’s way bigger than we can handle, but I don’t think we can go to any high-and-mighty werewolves about this, at least not yet.” Rick paused and furrowed his wrinkled brow. “What region did you say you were from?”

  “The Wildlands,” I told him.

  “Hmm, might be worth it to walk that way and see what we can find. That Luke fellow seemed like-” I cringed at his use of the past tense, and Rick noticed. “That Luke fellow’s a nice guy and I bet a lot of his people would want to help you. He also said I’d need to deliver that message to some Burnbaum guy in that place. You think he’d be somewhere in that region?”

  I shrugged. “It’s possible.”

  “But we’re not even halfway across Manutia. How are we going to get to Wildlands?” Steve spoke up.

  “How’s your thumb?” Rick asked him.

  Steve lifted one hand and wagged his thumb. “Fine, why?”

  “Because to get across this place in a hurry we’re using the old-fashioned strategy of hitchhiking,” Rick replied.

  It was a little risky asking strangers for a ride when we were on the run, but Rick was right, we didn’t have much of a choice. It was either that or run across the region on foot, and while my four feet could get me across fast the two humans would have a harder time keeping up. There was just one problem with Rick’s plan.

  “Who’s going to pick up a bunch of hitchhikers packing this much ammo, especially silver bullets?” Steve pointed out.

  Rick turned to me with a grin on his face and a sturdy rope stretched between his hands. “That’s no problem. We have ourselves a pack mule right here.”

  I scowled at him. “That’s not what wolves are for,” I argued.

  “I’m sure you can learn a new trick, and we can’t leave nothing laying around here for someone else to pick up. Some kid might shoot his eye out with my Uzi,” Rick countered.

  Steve frowned. “Uh, I think it might shoot more than his eye out.”

  “Doesn’t matter. We’re just wasting time arguing about all this stuff while those wolves from that fancy place chase after us. They might be here any minute,” Rick commented.

  I doubted that. Rick hadn’t exactly driven straight through the woods and fields. Our trail was more like the wanderings of a five year old on pixie sticks. Unfortunately, he was right about wasting time. Besides, I was a little cold in my torn clothes and having a fur coat would solve that problem. “All right, but I’m not carrying any of you, and one little ‘giddy-up’ and you’re both lunch meat,” I warned them.

  I transformed into a wolf as far as I dared without losing my human self, and the guys stacked and wrapped the guns and ammo on my back. I was surprised and relieved by how little the weight affected me. It was like carrying a school back pack on the first day of school. Not the other days, though, that would have been a hell of a lot heavier. After half an hour I, demoted to mule, was packed and the guys had bags over their own shoulders for quick retrieval of weapons in case we did find trouble.

  With everything prepared there was only one thing left to do, and that was let my sniffer lead the way to Wildlands. I put my nose to the ground and let out a great, big sniff. That caused a massive ball of dust to slip into my nostrils and wrack my body with a violent sneeze attack. I heard Steve snort in amusement, and even through my sneezing I whipped my head to him and snarled. He yelped and hid behind Rick.

  “That’s not how a wolf smells things,” Rick told me. He got on his hands and knees beside me and gently put his nose to the ground. “You’ve gotta be above the dirt, and you’ve gotta sniff something that came from the area so you know what you’re looking for.”

  “That last part will be a problem,” I pointed out.

  Rick sat up and rubbed his chin. “You might have a point there,” he mused.

  “What about sniffing herself?” Steve suggested. We turned to him and he sheepishly grinned and shrugged. “She came from there,” he pointed out.

  Rick snorted. “The kid’s got a point. Might as well sniff your own fur and try to find that scent on the wind or something.”

  “Fine, fine,” I grudgingly agreed. I sniffed my shoulder and raised my nose to the air. Safely away from the dirt, I closed my eyes and took a deep whiff. My olfactory nerves sifted through all the beautiful and gruesome scents, and in a moment I smelled something very familiar. My eyes shot open and I wagged my tail. “Found it!” I cried in glee.

  “Then let’s get going!” Rick yelled.

  Have you ever been stuck with two scraggly guys on a cross country tour with the knowledge that a pack of wolves might be ever at your heels? I’ll tell you, it’s not fun. None of the National Lampoon’s movies were quite as tedious, full of bickering, and maddening. The two humans argued about the most effective method of sticking out one’s thumb.

  “You have to wave it,” Rick insisted.

  “That makes you look like a crazy man. What’s wrong with just sticking it out?” Steve argued.

  “Because that don’t show how serious you are. You can’
t do anything half-assed and expect results,” Rick growled.

  I will say this, though, that their arguing kept my mind from wandering back to Luke and the others trapped in the clutches of our enemies. Sometimes with their arguing, though, I wondered if thinking about the others wasn’t such a bad idea.

  9

  Lady Luck finally smiled on us six hours later as we plodded our way down a country road. I heard a noise and glanced behind me. Coming our way was a beat-up farm pickup. “Boys, company,” I piped up.

  Rick and Steve looked over their shoulders and Rick’s face lit up. “All right, time to practice that thumbing we’ve been doing,” he told Steve.

  “You mean arguing about,” I grumbled.

  The guys turned towards the road with their faces looking to the oncoming vehicle. They held out their thumbs, each in their own way. Rick stretched himself up to his full height and waved his thumb over his head. Steve opted for the more refined approach of merely sticking his digit in front of him. At the sight of the two I swear the truck accelerated.

  “I don’t think he’s going to stop,” Steve commented.

  “Keep sticking out your thumb,” Rick growled.

  I had to agree with Steve’s assessment, and stepped in with my two cents and four paws. “Step aside, boys, and I’ll show you how you catch a ride in wolf country.” I pushed between them, turned tail to the road, lifted my rear and lowered my front, and waved my tail like a flag flapping in the wind.

  The driver stomped on the brakes and screeched to a halt ten yards down the road from us. The truck backed up and the driver shifted across the seat to stick his head out the passenger window. He was a middle-aged man with the eyes and scent of a wolf, and the look of a roughly hewn but pretty stone. “You guys need a lift?” he asked us.

  “Yep,” I told him.

  The driver’s eyes glanced over the boys. “I can only fit one person in the cab, but you two fellas are welcomed to the bed.”

  The tables were turned. I hopped eagerly into the cab in my wolf form while the two guys were forced into the hay-covered, rusty-nail infested bed. The driver started the truck up and I bumped down the road with a padded seat beneath my worn posterior. I reverted back to my human form and gladly plopped the portable munitions factory on the seat between me and the driver.

  “The name’s Wilson,” the man introduced himself.

  “Becky,” I replied.

  “So where you guys headed?” Wilson asked me.

  “Oh, just east,” I told him.

  “You coming from the west? I heard there was a lot of trouble that way a few days ago,” he commented.

  I shrugged. “I haven’t heard of anything like that.”

  “Really? It’s been on the news all the time. They’ve been interrupted my music every few minutes with the alert.”

  “I don’t have a radio,” I pointed out.

  “Here, lemme show you.” He turned on the radio and country music played for a few minutes before an announcer broke in.

  “We interrupt this broadcast to bring you an emergency alert. Arthur Mullen, lord of the region of Scientia, was found murdered in his home yesterday. A single silver-bullet was found lodged in his head, and fingerprints were found on the weapon that belong to Luke Laughton, lord of Wildlands. Laughton is also suspected in the kidnapping of Lord Stevens of Manutia and is considered very dangerous. Do not approach him and immediately contact the authorities. The last sighting of him was in the southern portion of Manutia. He was traveling with two male humans and a female werewolf. If you have any information of their whereabouts, contact your local authorities immediately. Thank you.”

  The country music returned, but I was too filled with elation to notice. If they were still looking for Luke that means they hadn’t caught him yet, and that means he might still be alive! A smile brightened my face until I heard the radio click off. I turned to the driver who looked at me with a grin on his lips.

  “That seems to have brightened your spirits,” he commented.

  I blushed and glanced away. “O-oh, it’s nothing. I was just-um, just thinking of someone,” I replied.

  “Well, I guess we’ll see if the authorities catch them bandits, but if ya ask me I don’t think they done it.”

  I turned to him and blinked. “You don’t?”

  He shook his head. “Nope. Too much strange things have been going on lately, and what with that vote at Sanctuary a while back it makes one think something’s not quite right here.” He leaned toward me and winked. “You get what I mean?”

  “I-I think so,” I hesitantly agreed.

  He glanced between the road and me. “Ya know, if I happened to come across a few of that group I might think about helping them along to the border of Wildlands. You know, just to give them a sporting chance against Connor and his ilk.”

  “Sir-”

  “Wilson, if you please,” he corrected me.

  “Um, Wilson, I think I’ll just be blunt and ask you if you’re serious about helping us get away from Lance-Connor,” I wondered.

  His face broke out in a wide grin. “Never thought you’d ask, but yep. Actually, I’ve been looking for you fellas for half a day now, ever since the radio announcements turned on. It told us where we were going to find you, and Burnbaum sent a whole bunch of us out here to see if we could pick you up before Connor did.”

  “Burnbaum?” I gasped.

  “Yep, and the rest of us Green Party members. Didn’t think you were the only ones fighting this war, did ya?” he mused with a chuckle.

  I shrugged. “I was kind of getting that impression.”

  “Well, yer not, but I was expecting one more in yer group. What happened to Laughton?” he asked me.

  My face fell and I turned away. “I-I’m not really sure. He stayed behind in the marsh woods to fight off some of the guys following us from the compound.”

  “Well, by the radio I’d say they haven’t caught him yet, and they’re not going to catch you.” Wilson shifted the truck into a higher gear and the vehicle sped forward down the road. “I don’t like to see a woman crying, so I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I’ll take you as far as the Wildlands border and search for your mate. How does that sound?”

  “Really?” I asked him.

  He smiled. “Really.”

  “But why?”

  “Because he’s the best asset we got. A good fighter and a lord, to boot. We can’t risk him falling into the clutches of that madman Connor, and I’ve sworn on my mom’s grave not to let that happen. ‘Course, my mom’s still alive, but it’s still an oath.”

  I gave my best fangirl squeal and wrapped my arms around his neck. The truck veered across both lanes of the single-lane road and nearly careened into the ditch, but I didn’t care. “Thank you! Thank you!”

  He laughed and pulled me off. “I haven’t found him yet, so don’t be thanking me.”

  There was a knock behind us and I turned to see Rick’s angry face glaring at me. “Are you two trying to get us killed?” he growled.

  I pulled open the window and smiled at him. Even his grumpiness couldn’t kill my good mood. “Wilson is part of the resistance and he’s going to take us to the border of Wildlands,” I told them.

  Rick looked suspiciously at our driver. “If you were supposed to be looking for us why didn’t you stop when we were thumbing for a ride?”

  “Well, there was only three of you when we were expecting four, and you were waving your hand so bad I thought you were a drunk, and nobody in their right mind would be drunk while on the run from Connor,” Wilson explained.

  “Uh-huh, you got any proof to back up these claims?”

  Wilson chuckled. “Well, I haven’t got any tattoos, but if you’ll look in that glove compartment you’ll find my credentials.”

  I opened the glove compartment and smiled. Nestled amongst the worn leather gloves, dirty truck ownership papers, and dust was a clean slip of paper. On the paper was written the words “Find Mr. and M
rs. Smith, and present them with this paper for identification.”

  I pulled out the paper with my hand and Rick read the short note over my shoulder. “What’s this mean?” he wondered.

  “It’s the names Luke and I used when we signed in at Burnbaum’s inn,” I told him.

  “That’s your proof?” Rick scoffed.

  “Rick?” I asked him.

  “Yeah?”

  “Don’t make me eat you.”

  “You wouldn’t-” I whipped my face to him and growled. His eyes widened and he backed away from the window. “Fine, fine, we’ll believe him,” he grudgingly agreed.

  “We’ll be at the border in about eight hours, accounting for gas breaks and whatnot, so you may as well get some sleep,” Wilson advised us.

  Rick slunk down against the cab and mumbled to Steve about our new and improved predicament. I nestled myself down on the seat cushions and dozed for most of the ride.

  10

  It was the first time in forever that I had a good sleep, and when Wilson stopped the truck I was a little disappointed. “We need to stop for gas,” he told me.

  I raised my head and glanced around. We were in one of those small towns like the one with the old mother. “Are you sure it’s safe to be stopping anywhere?” Rick whispered through the cab window.

  Wilson chuckled and opened his door. “I grew up around these parts and know most everybody who’s worth knowing in these towns from working as a mechanic. You won’t find a finer group of people.”

  “Hey, Wilson!” shouted an elderly man on a bench outside the gas station convenience store.

  Wilson leaned out the window and waved. “Hey, Tom, how’s the crops this year?” he yelled back.