Southern Alpha Book Four

by Carina Wilder

  “So Louis will be there?” I asked, looking for some sort of comfort to ease my frayed nerves. Louis would calm me down a little. He was the opposite of the Marquis—kind, friendly, gentle. I knew by now that he was a shifter, but in my mind, his wolf was the kind who wagged his tail and jumped up to lick your face as opposed to trying to chew it off.

  Louis was the golden retriever of wolf shifters.

  The Marquis, on the other hand, was an animal in every sense of the word. The slithery tone of his voice reminded me of my old fantasies about what a vampire would sound like—that was, if they actually existed. The bastard seemed to thirst for pain, to seek joy, even solace, in the suffering of others.

  Which could only mean that he’d be looking forward to Friday, when he could take on Trick’s wolf in one-on-one combat. He’d finally have his chance to tear my lover apart.

  And I’d be there, forced to watch it all in a state of utter horror.

  “What exactly are you going to be shooting at today, anyhow?” I asked Trick as I eyed my tepid cup of coffee. I tried to keep my voice light, but I had no doubt that he could hear the tightness in my chest.

  He shrugged. “It changes from Trial to Trial. We haven’t had a shooting competition around here in years, so I have no idea.”

  “Really? So it could be literally anything?”

  He nodded. “Yeah. Last time it was paper targets in the shape of small kittens. If you hit their fluffy little bellies, you got five points. But hit them in the adorable head and you got ten.”

  I glanced over at him only to see that he was grinning. “Are you joking?” I asked, my eyes narrowing. “You are, aren’t you? Tell me.”

  He nodded. “Of course I am.”

  “Oh, thank God.”

  “They were puppies.”

  “Stop it!” I hollered with a smack to his arm across the table. “That’s not funny. I’m freaking out over here.”

  “Don’t,” he laughed. “Today will be a blast. Literally.”

  I glared at him again. “A guy who hates you is going to have a high-powered firearm in his hands, and you’re telling me today will be fun?”

  Trick shrugged again as he stood up and walked over to get his jacket, which was draped over the back of the couch in the living area behind us. “If he shoots me, at least I’ll die fast,” he said, stepping back over and kissing me.

  “I don’t want you to die,” I moaned.

  He shook his head and gave me a half-smirk. “It’s not the Marquis’ style to shoot someone he hates as much as he hates me. He likes prolonged acts of torture. It’s why he likes fire. Burns hurt.”

  “Yeah, I’m well aware,” I muttered as walked over to the door and slipped my shoes on. “Wait a minute—I just realized something. The Marquis…Is he named after…”

  “The Marquis de Sade,” Trick replied as he made his way over. “Yep. The very same.”

  “Holy shit. How did I not figure that out sooner?”

  “Because you want to see the good in people?” Trick asked, kissing my cheek and weaving his fingers together behind my lower back. “Because deep down, you assumed he was descended from nobility, and not from Satan?”

  “I suppose. Damn it, why couldn’t you be competing against a guy called Loveyface McHugsalot?”

  “Because my life is stupid,” Trick said. His eyes brightened as he stared down at me, his mane of light hair framing those delicious cheekbones of his. “No, you know what? It’s not stupid. It’s actually amazing, all because you’re part of it.”

  “Thank you, Trick.”

  “Sierra—I promise you one thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I’ll make it to the end of this week if it kills me.”

  “That’s a really shitty joke.”

  “Jokes are all I have right now.”

  I shook my head. “Not true. You have me.”

  “Yes,” he said with a smile. “I do, don’t I?”

  Chapter 4

  Trick

  “Where exactly are we headed?” Sierra asked half an hour later as I navigated my truck down winding, narrow roads towards what probably felt to her like the middle of nowhere.

  “Saint-Jean Bayou,” I told her. “Far from civilization so no one thinks a war’s broken out when they hear the shots go off.”

  When she didn’t respond, I glanced over at her. Her hands were knotted together in her lap, her face pale. The distinct scent of fear floated on the air between us. Fear of loss, of an end.

  It seemed I hadn’t done a good enough job of reassuring her back at her place. Of course, it would have been easier if I could reassure myself, too.

  I reached out and cupped my right hand over both of hers. “Look,” I said, “It’ll be okay.”

  She nodded. “I know. I just…I’ve never liked guns. I’ve been around them before, when I was covering the military for assignments. You’d think I would have gotten used to them by now, but they freak me out, and always have. So when someone puts one in the hands of a guy who’s out for my blood…”

  “Don’t forget, I’ll have one, too,” I told her with a grimace. “If he tries anything, I can blow the scowl right off his face.”

  “Is it a good one?” she asked, her tone hopeful. “The gun, I mean.”

  I nodded. “The best.”

  Sierra gave me a skeptical side-eyed glance. “Why is it that I get the feeling you’re full of shit right now?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t know. But if Bessie hears you saying bad things about her…”

  “Bessie?”

  “That’s my rifle.”

  “You’re telling me you named your rifle Bessie, and you expect me to take you seriously when you tell me you can win this thing?”

  I flashed her a smile. “You bet I do,” I said exuberantly. “Look, I can definitely win. That is, if the Marquis has a bad day. And if the wind doesn’t change for the worse. And if I keep my wits about me. And if I don’t get something in my eye. And if I don’t stink this up.”

  “That’s a lot of ifs, Patrick.”

  “Blondie, I thrive on uncertainty.”

  “Great. I feel so much better already.”

  When we turned onto a narrow dirt road a few minutes later, a series of pickups and beat-up cars were already parked in two tidy rows on either side, leaving just enough room for me to squeeze my truck through. Some of the shifter spectators had probably made their way on foot or in boats, too. Or, in the case of the raven and hawk shifters, in the air.

  As I steered the truck towards the end of the road, a lone, shiny black Mercedes sedan parked on the right side caught my eye. “Layla’s here,” I said as I pulled the truck in behind it, tempted to hit it just hard enough to slightly dent the pristine bumper.

  “The goth-looking Valkyrie from the Undercroft other night?” Sierra asked.

  I nodded. “Yeah, though she probably won’t be dressed like that today. Anyhow, I’m assuming that Little Miss Grumpy-Pants has been assigned the job of keeping an eye on the Marquis and me. The rules state that you have to have a neutral party manning the competitions, and she’s as neutral and restrained as they come. The woman wouldn’t cheat if you put a gun to her head—which, come to think of it, the Marquis might very well do.”

  “Really? She’s neutral? But I thought the Valks were on your side in all this.”

  I turned off the ignition and twisted in my seat to look at Sierra. She was so damned beautiful, waves of fine blond hair surrounding a face framed by arched eyebrows and dark lashes that accentuated those sweet baby-blue eyes of hers. “They are on our side,” I said, tucking an errant strand of hair behind her right ear. “But like I said, they won’t cheat. The Marquis and his band of walking ball-sacks know that, so they’re all for having the Valks be the final arbiters in these competitions. Everyone else can be corrupted, but not the pure-blood Valkyries.”

  I watched as Sierra’s cheeks puffed up and she expelled a long, weary breath. I hated seeing tha
t the Trials were already taking a toll on her. She’d had to process so much information in the last few days, and now this. It was hardly a fair ordeal to inflict on a human, and the fact that I’d grown to care so deeply for her only made me want to protect her even more from such a relentless emotional assault.

  “Listen, do you want to take the truck back to town?” I asked. “You don’t need to be here. I can manage on my own. I promise not to do anything stupid.”

  She shook her head with an expression of absolute certainty, her long hair flicking her face. “No fucking way,” she said, grabbing my hand and squeezing. “I’m not letting you out of my sight around that monster for a single minute. If he tries something, I want to be there to kick his balls so hard he chokes on them.”

  “Fine, my feisty little sex fiend,” I said, pulling her hand up to my lips. “If you insist on staying, keep close and make sure you’re safe. We’ll find Louis, so you can have someone to grab hold of in case things get weird.”

  “Weird?”

  “Figure of speech,” I chuckled, pulling my door handle. “Don’t worry, blondie. Today will be okay. Then tonight, whatever the outcome, you and I will tuck ourselves into a bed somewhere and celebrate the fact that we’re both still alive. Then we’ll celebrate again, only in a slightly different position.”

  “That sounds…really good,” she said, climbing out of the truck. “Just make it through today, would you?”

  “Deal.”

  Chapter 5

  Sierra

  As we made our way down a path towards a large clearing in the woods, I could see that a crowd of shifters and Valkyries had already gathered to watch the upcoming spectacle.

  The shifters—tall, broad-shouldered and powerful-looking men—turned their eyes to Trick as we approached. There were glimmers of quiet hope in their expressions, which wasn’t exactly surprising. If their two options were to be led by Trick, a man with morals and strength of character, or by a sadist like the Marquis, it wasn’t exactly surprising to see that they’d already made their choice.

  “Too bad they can’t just vote for you right away,” I said under my breath.

  “Yeah, it is,” Trick agreed. “But the Marquis would probably find a way to rig the vote.”

  “True,” I replied, pulling my hand up to my neck with the recollection of what he’d tried to do to me two nights ago. Tracking me from the bar. Sneaking into my apartment. Attacking me in the dark and trying to kill me just to send a message and prove some cruel and brutal point. The man didn’t exactly play by the rules.

  Taking me by the hand, Trick led me through the admiring crowd straight towards Layla, who was standing alone some distance away.

  Though she looked quite different from the other night, the Valkyrie was impossible to miss, if only because of her height and remarkable bright green eyes. She wasn’t sporting the heavy white makeup she’d had on at the Bash in the Undercroft, nor did she have on the black wig she’d been wearing. Today, her hair was light brown, flowing down her back in long waves. She wore a pair of jeans and a white t-shirt, accented by a pair of heavy-looking binoculars that hung around her neck.

  She looked better this way, in her natural state, although her face still exuded a coldness I found both intimidating and fascinating. Her jaw was rigid, her mouth drawn down into a stern grimace. She was admirable, enviable, and terrifying all wrapped up in a tall package of go-fuck-yourself attitude.

  “Patrick,” she said coolly as we approached.

  “Layla,” Trick replied in an equally frosty tone.

  “Come with me, and I’ll fill you in on the procedure,” she commanded, but her eyes were fixed on me. As Trick and I stepped forward to follow her, she shook her head. “Not the human. She needs to stay here for the time being.”

  I froze in place, unsure of what to do with myself.

  Trick turned to offer me an apologetic look, but I said, “It’s fine.”

  “Listen,” he replied softly, taking my hands in his, “why don’t you go find Louis? He went by my place to pick Bessie up, and I’m not going to do too well in this competition if I don’t have her in my hands. If you could find her for me…”

  “Of course,” I said, “sure.”

  Trick’s eyes flashed bright and then settled after a moment as he scanned the area. “Keep an eye out for the Marquis’ men,” he cautioned. “They can be real trouble-makers.”

  “How will I know who they are?”

  “Just look for the giant, walking, talking assholes.”

  I nodded and managed a withering smile as he gave me a quick peck on the cheek. I turned away, walking quickly into the crowd which I could only hope was mostly made up of allies, not enemies.

  Just when I thought I might get lost among the throngs, or possibly jostled to death, someone to my right called out, “Sierra!”

  I twisted around to see if I could figure out where the familiar voice was coming from. After a few seconds, I spotted Louis shouldering his way through the crowd towards me. I breathed a light sigh of relief, glad to feel the tension in my chest finally let up a little.

  “Hey there,” I said as Louis came close, a long, narrow canvas-wrapped package slung over his right shoulder. “Am I glad to see you.”

  He gave me a quick, slightly awkward hug and whispered, “Stay close to me today, okay? You should be fine—these are mostly the good guys. But you never know who’s hanging around in the middle of the crowd looking for trouble. If a fight breaks out or if anything else goes down, I don’t want you anywhere near it.”

  “Okay,” I said with a nod. “Trick warned me.” I looked around for a moment before adding, “I’m really freaked out about this whole competition thing.”

  “Don’t worry. Your boyfriend’s really good at this.”

  I couldn’t help but smile at his use of the B-word. “Yeah. That’s what he keeps telling me. But the Marquis is…”

  Just as I uttered his name, the bastard himself walked by us with a long, sleek black carrying case in hand. He glared at me sideways, and I could have sworn that I heard a snarl emerge from between his thin lips. Instinctively, I grabbed hold of Louis’ arm and squeezed hard.

  “He won’t hurt you,” Louis said. “Not with this many of Trick’s allies around. It would be suicide.”

  “That’s what Trick told me that night at the cemetery, and yet…” I couldn’t help recalling the agonizing sting of the burn that the blue flame had seared into my flesh from a fiery projectile that the Marquis himself had thrown. If Trick hadn’t hauled me out of there and tended to my wound, I might have died right there among all the crypts and entombed corpses.

  “This is different,” Louis whispered. “The fucker knows everyone here is judging him. He wants the Alpha title, which means he’s on his best behavior today. So he’s probably not going to murder anyone.”

  “Good to know,” I said with a smirk. “Nothing like hanging my life on ‘probably.’”

  “Don’t worry,” Louis chuckled. “I’ve got you. Come on. Let’s get closer to the action.” He patted the canvas package that hung at his side. “I need to get this to Trick.”

  He escorted me to a tall wooden scaffold that was set up on the edge of the clearing overlooking a large open field. A ladder led up to a platform about seven feet off the ground. “That’s where they’ll stand when they shoot,” he said.

  “Seriously?” I asked, looking around for targets. “What exactly are they shooting at?” I was grateful not to see any distant cut-outs of kittens or puppies.

  “Trick will show you,” Louis said, turning us both around.

  By now, my lover was walking back our way. Behind him stood Layla, who was apparently waiting to walk the Marquis through the targeting process.

  “So today’s rules,” Trick said as Louis handed him the package, “are that we need to strike a moving target from 250 yards away.” He pointed past the crowd of shifters to an expansive field filled with marsh grass and a sea of pink and
yellow flowers. “The targets will launch from way down there. My senses will have to be in perfect alignment. Even my breathing has to be spot-on or I’ll fuck up.”

  While Louis went over to talk to two broad-shouldered men who looked like they must be wolf shifters, Trick explained where and how he’d be positioned when he took aim at the distant targets. As he told me more about the Trials and the difficulties of this particular competition, the Marquis walked past us to a table that had been set up some distance to our left. I watched as he set his shiny fiberglass case down on its surface and cracked it open to reveal a massive rifle.

  “Holy shit!” I said, grabbing Trick and nodding my head over to where our mutual enemy was busily attaching a scope to the top of his ridiculously enormous gun. “What the hell is that thing?”

  “That’s the Ruger 10-22 with an Adjustable Inferno Stock.” Trick said in a low growl. “In other words, it’s a beast.”

  The dazzling black weapon was an impressive assembly of slick, interlocking parts. But I couldn’t get over how huge it was. The thing was practically a freaking canon, the kind of monstrosity that should have been mounted on an army jeep, or that an action movie hero would keep under his pillow at night.

  “I thought you said this was target-shooting,” I said with a shudder, my eyes locked on the Marquis’ monster of a weapon. “What’s the target, an aircraft carrier?”

  Trick laughed. “No. Nothing like that.”

  “He must have a really small dick,” I said with a frown.

  “I can’t say I’ve ever seen it,” Trick replied. “Thank God for that. I don’t even want to think about the mangled little baby-carrot he’s got going on down there.” Obviously, Trick wasn’t as freaked out by his psychotic opponent’s firepower as I was. “The important thing,” he said at last, “is that I do better than he does.”

  “So what do you need to do, exactly?”

  “Mr. Small-Schlong over there and I will take turns climbing up onto the platform and firing at a moving target. We get three shots each. He’ll use his anti-aircraft carrier gun, but I’ll be using this.” He unslung the beige canvas carrying-case from his shoulder and withdrew a long, slender rifle with a beaten-up wooden stock that looked like something he’d stolen from a Civil War museum. “This is Bessie. Otherwise known as a Rigby Muzzle Loader,” he told me with a hint of pride. “Here,” he added, placing the gun in my hands. “Why don’t you see how she feels?”