by Lola Taylor
Nope. His mate was really fucking gone.
On the verge of panic, he was about to shout for the guards when he spied a note sitting on the bed. The paper was nearly the same color as their comforter, hiding it from his view the first time he’d searched the bed.
His eyes flew over the neat script he knew to be his mate’s.
Couldn’t sleep. Gone for a walk to clear my head. Don’t worry, babe. Will be back. Love, Alara
First of all, she never called him “babe.” Like, ever.
“Lord Alpha.” Another wolf under his command stood at the open door. “There’s been a disturbance.”
Son of a bitch, did this never end?
He was already walking toward the door. “Where?”
“The garage. Old Man Wayne was attacked.”
Nik’s brows furrowed. Wayne was as sweet as old men came. In the years Nik had known him, he’d come to think of him as a grandpa. If someone had hurt him…
But his concern over Wayne paled next to his concern for his mate.
Where are you, Alara?
He wasn’t going to bother asking Tweedledee and Tweedledum outside their bedroom door if they’d heard anything. Since they’d kept insisting she’d been asleep, he figured they couldn’t have much more to offer in the way of information.
It didn’t take long to get to the garage. Wayne sat on a stool, rubbing his head.
Nik approached him. “What happened?” he asked gently.
“I… I don’t remember,” Wayne said, sounding baffled. “One minute I was monitoring the cameras, and the next, I was waking up with a splitting headache!”
“Easy,” Nik murmured, looking around. Well, fuck. Someone had done a number on their equipment. Yeah, he’d smelled the smoke and burning electrical cords from outside the garage, but he’d been more focused on making sure a member of his pack was all right. At any rate, he wasn’t happy about the roasted equipment.
“Anything missing?” he asked.
“Um, that blue Subaru BRZ.”
Nik paused. Of all the sweet rides in their garage, why the hell would someone steal that? It was a nice car, yeah, but compared to the Ferrari F12berlinetta…
A glint of gold from the floor, underneath the desk where Wayne had fallen, caught Nik’s eye. Bending over, he retrieved the item.
His breath stuck in his throat.
It was Alara’s pinky ring. It’s a stupid piece of plastic, she said in his memory, showing it off to him when he’d asked. Izzy won it for me at a fair. I wear it to keep her close to me, I suppose.
Alara had been here. She never took that ring off, not ever.
Realization slowly dawned on him. “I need to go,” he said, grabbing a set of keys from the wall and walking into the garage.
“Where?” a guard asked, following.
Nik unlocked the silver Porsche Panamera and climbed inside. “Don’t know. There’s something I need to do. See to it that Wayne gets seen by Heath.”
He closed the door and turned the engine, gunning it out of the garage and leaving the guy staring after him, scratching his head.
Alara hadn’t gone on a walk. She’d been taken or forced to go against her will.
Otherwise, why deliberately leave the ring for him to find?
It occurred to Nik that he should probably call for backup, but he decided against it. Gage had his own problems as His-Royal-Importantness. Plus, it would take him too long to get there. Sure, he could probably order one of his witches to beam him or poof him there. But Nik didn’t want to be a nuisance. He could handle this problem on his own. Nik smirked. Let his little brother sort out the rest of the werewolf nation’s issues.
His pack couldn’t be trusted. They’d made that abundantly clear in the events of these past few hours. Slacking on the job, pigheadedness, unreliability… things weren’t boding well for the Moonstruck Pack.
And that weird gleam in their eyes… he didn’t know if he was seeing things or if there really was something more to that.
Either way, he didn’t have time to get to the bottom of that now. He had to find his mate. Something was clearly wrong with her, and he would never in a million years leave her in jeopardy. He wouldn’t deserve a mate, or have the right to be called an Alpha, if he let something happen to her. He was barely able to keep the pack together as it was. The thought of someone new taking over just because his mate was killed—
Don’t think that way. Don’t fucking think that way.
She wasn’t dead, wasn’t going to die, dammit. Not if he could help it.
The Porsche’s tires squealed as he slid onto the highway and slammed his foot down on the gas.
It would be wise to let someone know where he was, just in case something happened. Reaching out to his Beta, Jared, through their pack-bond, he informed him of what he was driving and the direction he was going in. Alara’s signature was faint, meaning she was way ahead of him but not so far that he couldn’t tell the direction she’d gone.
Nik told Jared he’d contact him once he found what he was looking for and told him to keep an eye on everyone.
After Jared assured his Alpha he would do his best, Nik allowed himself to focus on the open road.
The silvery eyes, the doppelgänger, the DPI, Ralph—none of it mattered.
Right now, the most important thing on his mind was finding his mate.
About fifteen minutes into the drive, the doppelgänger had Alara get onto the interstate. Alara tried not to let her nerves show as she drove south, heading toward Texas. Her pinky felt empty without her sister’s ring, and it took all her focus not to consciously think about leaving it behind.
Had Nik found it yet?
Dropping it on the floor while the doppelgänger was distracted had been an afterthought, something that hadn’t occurred to her until they’d gotten ready to leave. Alara had kept the doppelgänger busy chatting. If it had noticed anything amiss, it hadn’t said.
She deeply hoped Nik would come, a secret wish she didn’t dare give thought or voice to. It wasn’t so much about him rescuing her as it was not trusting the doppelgänger to keep her body safe. With him around, it was more likely to be careful.
She hoped.
And if it tried to turn on Nik, Alara would fight back with everything she had in her. It wouldn’t be allowed to hurt her beloved. She just hoped that if it came down to that, she would be strong enough in spirit to defend her will.
Turn here, exit thirty-four, said the doppelgänger.
Alara put her blinker on and got off the interstate.
Go to the right, toward Crossroads.
She did as the doppelgänger said, knowing it was useless to ask questions and that there was no point in resisting much right now. The doppelgänger had made it clear it would take control if need be, and Alara didn’t want to inadvertently ram into a light pole or end up in a ditch because of an internal power struggle. The police would think she was crazy, drunk, high, maybe all three. Getting thrown in jail was not part of her escape plan.
Alara had never been to this part of the state before. In general, her father hadn’t bothered much with small, rural towns, preferring to conduct his business and place his focus on the larger cities throughout the US. Every now and then he would deign to visit a small town, but it was always just for show. Usually, a film crew was nearby, and within the month, pictures and video clips of the gracious High King of Werewolves would trickle into the Underworld media system. Usually with some fluff piece about him funding a local charity or helping to bring commerce to poorer cities. The display, the insincerity of it all, had disgusted Alara.
The town of Crossroads was literally just down the road, at a major intersection of different highways. A large green sign read, Welcome to Crossroads, home of the Crossroads Pirates. Population 7,000, Census 2011.
It was nice; the whole town was older but looked well kept. It looked like an industrial city, specializing in food-product manufacturing. Several gray structures Ala
ra knew to be plants coughed up smoke in the distance, just outside of town.
The doppelgänger acted as her GPS as she drove through the town square, eventually following one of the back roads out to the countryside. Cornstalks sprang up all around, swaying in the breeze. Verdant fields speckled with grazing cattle stretched out into the horizon on either side of the road. Sunlight beat through the windshield, warming the car and Alara’s skin. She cranked the AC up a bit higher, turning the temperature down as low as it would go.
You see that plant coming up, the large light-gray one on the left? the doppelgänger said.
Yes?
That’s where we’re going. But we’re not going to park there. We’re going to pull over at this gas station up the road, park, and walk to the plant.
About a quarter of a mile away from the plant, a tiny BP sat. Its sign was yellow, the green long faded due to overexposure to the sun and the elements.
Alara’s stomach churned. Putting on her blinker, she turned into the BP and parked along the side of the store as the doppelgänger instructed.
To avoid security cameras, it said as she got out and locked the car up.
She set out on foot back in the direction she came, jogging along the highway briefly before ducking into one of the cornfields for better coverage.
Having been exercising regularly for a while now, thanks to her mother’s relentless commentary about her weight, Alara was used to running. It felt good, feeding more energy into her body and giving her something to focus on, other than the fact that this was surely a bad idea.
As she ran, she took inventory of her surroundings. A dirt path cut through the cornfield, about a quarter of a mile to her left. When she neared the edge of the cornfield, she knelt and quietly observed.
The plant had two main buildings from which smoke billowed, high and fluffy, into the sky. A few other buildings sat alongside them, some connecting to the main structure and some not. A brick sign with a colorful plaque reading CHARLIE’S CHICKEN sat at the end of the driveway, in case the twenty-foot emblem stamped to the main building facing the road was somehow missed.
A parking lot, about half full, stretched alongside the largest building. The six-foot chain-link fence surrounding the property almost made it feel like a detention facility.
Facing them on the side of the largest building was a door with some keypad device meant for swiping a security badge. Above the door, the narrow shape of a security camera loomed. A mountain of a man stood beside the door, dressed head to toe in black and looking more like a mercenary than a security guard. He had a meanness about his eyes that made Alara shiver. The hem of his shirt lifted around his hip—he had a gun.
Out of habit, she scanned his signature, checking to see if he was supernatural or human.
A frown formed. That’s a werewolf.
Yes.
What’s a werewolf doing in a place like this?
You’ll see.
More riddles and few answers.
Well, now what? Alara asked the doppelgänger.
We break in, it said simply.
Break in, Alara stated flatly. All to steal a dagger. Why? I know you said it will stop Mistress Black, but how?
If I bothered to explain the intricacies of the spell I have in mind, we’d be here all day. Just trust me.
Her teeth gritted. It looked as if she wasn’t going to get any more out of the doppelgänger.
Alara had never been good with blind trust. It had often gotten her bitten.
She glanced over her shoulder, back in the direction of the highway. It would do her no good, running. The doppelgänger would only fight her the whole way and, with her being as exhausted as she was, inevitably seize control.
Turning back to the facility, she said, How do we break in?
Just walk up to the door.
Aren’t you worried about the guard?
No.
Silence.
Growling a sigh, Alara checked to make sure the sidewalk leading up to the entrance was clear before swallowing her fear and stepping out of the cornfield. The doppelgänger briefly took over. Alara’s fingertips briefly tingled with magic, and she flexed her hand.
For the security camera, the doppelgänger said. The footage of the guard alone should start to loop, though it won’t last forever. We’ll need to be in and out quickly.
No problem. Alara didn’t want to stay here any longer than she had to.
The werewolf immediately zeroed in on her as she approached. His eyes swept her down and up, and his face scrunched up in confusion. “You can’t be here,” he said in a deep bass.
Act lost, the doppelgänger hissed. And don’t fight me if you want to live.
Alara gulped. Her smile had no problem being zany, thanks to her nerves. “Is this the Tyson plant? I’m here for a job interview.”
He looked pointedly at the sign that clearly said CHARLIE’S CHICKEN and then back to her. “No,” he said slowly, clearly thinking he was dealing with an idiot. His eyes narrowed. “Aren’t you a little underdressed for a job interview?”
“Oh, this isn’t Tyson’s?” Alara said, ignoring the comment about her attire as she sidled up to him. She stomped her foot. “Google Maps lied to me again!”
The guard sniffed. A low growl rumbled in his throat. “You’re a wolf.”
“Hmmm?”
“We don’t hire outside wolves. Ever.” He started to reach for his gun, the other hand going for the walkie-talkie at his side.
Alara’s body leapt into motion, the doppelgänger seizing control quicker than she could react. The ball of her foot connected with the man’s hand, making him drop the gun. He gaped at her, stunned. She summoned a blast of dark power, and her fist shot out, clipping his temple with a magic-packed punch. The guard’s eyes rolled back as he fell to the ground, out cold.
Once again, Alara was speechless as the doppelgänger directed her body. She knelt and picked up the gun, tucking it into the waistband of her pants, and grabbed the walkie-talkie. A wave of dizziness flowed through her, and she swayed, grabbing her head and holding it until the world stilled.
The fatigue will pass, the doppelgänger murmured, all business, as Alara grabbed the man’s badge. After dragging the body into the cornfield, which felt like trying to drag an elephant, Alara swiped the badge and entered the building.
What about the cameras in here?
Allow me. Power surged up from Alara’s mind as her lips moved against her will, uttering words in that strange, beautiful language she did not know. Her knees shook when the enchantment was completed, and she propped a hand along the wall to steady herself.
What did you do? Alara rasped.
Made us invisible to the eyes of mortals and cameras. Magic can still detect us. We’ll have to be discreet.
No kidding? Alara said dryly. As if breaking and entering didn’t require discretion.
The inside was fairly drab, with white walls and concrete flooring. There were no decorations, not even a potted plant. Fluorescent lighting lit the way as she walked quickly down the hallway, keeping one hand on the wall until the weakness passed. She opened her senses wide, checking for more paranormal signatures, but felt none.
How do you know so much about fighting? she asked the doppelgänger. And magic?
I know so much about magic because I’ve been in the heads of some of the greatest warlocks and witches the world has ever seen. Though Black Magic is inherent for most doppelgängers. We were born of it.
Because you’re evil, Alara wanted to say but kept her mental mouth shut. What about fighting?
The same, it said, as if shrugging. You pick up an assortment of useful knowledge when you head hop.
You mean body hop.
It was silent a beat. The sweet prickle of anger kissed her veins. Alara, frankly, didn’t care if she’d pissed it off. She’d never forgive it for what it was doing to her right now. Putting her in danger, taking control as if she were merely a machine for the doppel
gänger to use as it pleased.
Not for long. Alara had made it a promise, that she would never give up trying to expel it, and she damn well intended to keep it.
The forever-long hallway eventually ended in a fork. On the wall at the end of the hallway hung a sign, with arrows pointing in either direction. Production Room and Storage to the left and Offices, Break Room, and Restrooms to the right.
Take a left, the doppelgänger snapped.
Alara smirked a little. Guess it really didn’t like being called a body snatcher.
The urge to needle the doppelgänger further almost took hold, but she stopped herself. It was childish and wouldn’t solve her problem, no matter how much fun it sounded like.
The left turn had led to another secured-access steel door. Swiping her badge, she hefted the door open. It was a locker room, gray as deep winter and just as cold.
Thank God she was a werewolf. If her body temperature wasn’t naturally higher, she might find it unbearable to work here. As it was, she didn’t see how humans could stand it.
Checking for signatures of life and finding the place empty, she stepped into the room and her shoulders relaxed.
Find a uniform to change into, ordered the doppelgänger. And a mask. Tie your hair up, and put it under the cap.
Alara started sifting through lockers. None of them had locks. Apparently, this place had a high-trust code Alara found unbelievable. Or perhaps that was her inner cynic peeping its head out.
After raiding a few lockers, she found a long-sleeved white lab coat, a red plastic apron with the logo CHARLIE’S CHICKEN over the left breast, long, red latex gloves, a surgical mask, and a red latex hair cap.
After throwing all that on over her clothes, she crossed to the other side of the room and swiped the badge against the security panel. A second steel door clicked open, and cool mist floated out.
A decontamination room, the doppelgänger said. To detect traces of rogue magic.
Alara hesitated on the threshold. Will we set it off?
No. Allow me to worry about it.
Holding her breath, Alara crossed into the small room. The door clicked shut, and blue-and-purple mist shot out of nozzles on the walls. The sparkling vapors wrapped around her, circling her, searching her body for unwanted elements. Alara guessed she’d passed the test when the mist was sucked back into the nozzles in a blink, and the stoplight-looking thing above the exit switched from red to green.