Alpha Bear Princes Box Set

by Lily Cahill

  She fed her slice to Sandbox and left the room to wash her hands. As she entered the bathroom, Frankie caught a glimpse of herself in the bathroom mirror.

  Dammit.

  Of course she was going to have to see the most handsome man alive looking like this. She needed a shower. And a haircut. And maybe a personal stylist while she was at it.

  Becky popped her head in. "Where you going, Frankie? Got a hot date?" she teased.

  "Yeah. With some steel beams and a pile of two-by-fours."

  "Sounds dirty," Becky laughed.

  "I'm just meeting Hank to talk work stuff."

  "Is that sexy architect going to be there?"

  Apparently, word had spread about Mr. Universe.

  "Sadly, yes."

  "Want me to do your hair?" Becky asked. Becky was always asking to do her hair. Frankie couldn't quite tell if she should be offended, or if Becky just liked torture.

  "No time," Frankie said. "But thanks."

  "Just give me three minutes," Becky begged. "Please?"

  What harm could it do? "Fine. But you really only have three minutes."

  "Yay!" Becky clapped. Then she pounced.

  She let out Frankie's ponytail and brushed her hair until her locks looked decidedly less windblown.

  "You have such pretty hair," Becky cooed, spraying Frankie with something that made Frankie cough. "You should wear it down more often."

  That was unlikely, but Frankie didn't say so. Hair was a job hazard. Hair got caught in things and flew in front of your eyes and generally made life difficult doing what she did. It was either ponytails or a razor as far as she was concerned.

  Becky reached for her bin of clips--Becky had moved in to Mike's room last year and ever since, the bathroom had been covered in all things girly. She pulled out something with a bow on it.

  "No," Frankie said.

  "Come on. It would look so pretty."

  "Yeah, and it would really bring out the flannel in my flannel shirt."

  "Fine," Becky said, rolling her eyes. "Then you're done. For now."

  Frankie chanced a glance in the mirror. She wasn't exactly Mrs. Universe material, but it was a vast improvement. Her hair fell around her face in long, shining waves. Why did it never do that when she brushed it?

  "Not bad, Becks," she said, putting on a light coat of sheer lip gloss. If she was primping, she might as well go all-in. "Thanks."

  "No problem," Becky said as she was turning to leave. "And Frankie?"

  "Yeah?"

  "If he tries to kiss you? Let him."

  Frankie rolled her eyes. "Hank is happily married, Becks."

  Becky's voice echoed over her shoulder as she walked out the front door. "That's not who I meant and you know it!"

  #

  When Frankie arrived at Three Sisters, she spotted plenty of people she knew. It was one of the only bars in town--and the best one by far--so it was full most nights. Tonight, it looked like half the crew at Sam's work site was there. Fabulous.

  She spotted Sam at a booth in the corner. Just Sam. Where the hell was Hank?

  She was about to walk outside and wait for him so they could approach the jerk together when Sam spotted her and waved her over. Well, shit.

  "You changed your hair. It looks nice," he said.

  Frankie lifted a self-conscious hand to her hair. "Thanks."

  "Thanks for meeting me," Sam said as she sat down across from him.

  Suzy, a middle-aged waitress who was also the town gossip, stopped by with a pitcher of beer and two glasses, then signaled a thumbs-up to Frankie behind her back as she left. Wonderful. Now everyone would think they were on a date.

  "Would you like something else? I wasn't sure," Sam said.

  "Beer's fine," Sam said. Then it hit her. Two glasses. Two glasses and not three.

  "Where's Hank?" she asked.

  "Actually, something came up with Mary. I don't think he's going to make it."

  "Really?" Frankie said skeptically. Hank had spoken to her not twenty minutes ago, and hadn't called her to change plans. She glanced around the bar at all the crew guys, now shooting sneaky glances at her and Sam. Was he really trying to pull this off again? Maybe he was the "dumb and pretty" type after all.

  "I'm sure we can get along fine without him," Sam said. "So, why don't you tell me something about yourself?"

  "What? Like my spirit animal or something?"

  He squirmed a bit and Frankie almost felt sorry for him. This had to be a bet. Whatever was on the line, he was in deep.

  "If that's what you want to talk about, sure," Sam said.

  "Look, I don't mean to be rude, but my family is expecting me home."

  "Family? You have children?" Sam asked with a smile, his eyes taking on a far-away, dreamy expression.

  "Only if you can call three full-grown men children. And I do," Frankie said.

  He gave her a confused look. He was inching further toward "dumb and pretty" with every passing minute.

  "Brothers," Frankie said. "I live with my three older brothers. Now why don't you tell me what you were thinking about ordering?"

  "Um ..." Sam stumbled. "I've been considering ... I've been thinking about using birch for the interior doors instead of cedar."

  "Okay. Well, that shouldn't be a problem. But isn't it a little early to order the doors? You guys don't even have the roof beams in yet, and those babies aren't water-resistant. They're just going to sit out in the rain and rot."

  "Yes, well, I like to plan ahead," Sam said.

  "I'm sure I can get them here in plenty of time," Frankie said. "I need two weeks notice tops, and I'm guessing you're at least twelve weeks out from install, correct?"

  "Just about," Sam said with an impressed smile.

  She'd left her comfortable armchair for this? Hank had said they needed something first thing tomorrow. Frankie had to resist, very hard, the urge to kick his shins under the table. "So was there anything else?"

  "Actually, yes," Sam hesitated. "I'd like to apologize for my behavior earlier today. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

  "Mmm-hmm." Here we go, Frankie thought. Next thing they'd be rolling out a cake that said "gotcha" on it.

  "I was really hoping you and I could start again. I'd really love the chance to, well ... to get to know you better."

  Frankie sighed. "I see what you're up to here, buddy. And I don't know who put you up to it, but I'm afraid you gonna lose this bet."

  "Bet?"

  Frankie looked around the room. "Who was it? Hank? Is he hiding in the back room with a blow-horn and Silly String?"

  "I think there's been a misunderstanding."

  "I doubt it."

  "When I asked you out earlier, I was dead serious," Sam said, alarm on his features.

  "Sure you were," Frankie smirked.

  "Why wouldn't I be? You're stunning."

  Now he was really laying it on thick. What did he think? She was born yesterday?

  "I'm sorry if it offends you," he said. "But I don't see anything wrong with wanting to date a beautiful woman. You're making me out to be some sort of criminal."

  "Really?" she said. "You really want to take me out on a date?"

  "I thought I made that clear, yes," Sam said. His voice had gone deep and commanding and Frankie had to ignore the charge it sent through her lady parts.

  "How about this? I'll make you a deal. Write 'LOSER' on your forehead."

  "Excuse me?"

  "For a week. In black marker. Big letters, too."

  "You want me to write the word 'loser' on my face?" Sam smirked.

  "On your forehead, where everyone can see it. And no covering it up with a hat or a bandana or something. I want everyone you meet to see what I see. You do that from now until next Friday, and I'll go out on a date with you."

  A grin started to spread across Sam's face. "A real date? Anywhere I choose?"

  Frankie was a little taken-aback by his question. And that smile. That smile was l
ike kryptonite.

  Then another thought struck her. What if he would do it just to win the bet and then find a way to humiliate her even more on the date? But even if he did show up with her suggested temporary tattoo, there was no way he'd last a full week. If she knew one thing about pretty boys, they truly detested it when they didn't look their best. She gave him one day, two days tops. Her boldness returned.

  "Sure. Why not?" she said.

  He held out his hand to seal the deal and she took it. "I will keep you to your word, Frankie Thompson."

  Chapter Five

  Samuel

  The next morning, Sam dutifully wrote the word LOSER on his forehead in thick, black Sharpie. It was tough to pull off in the mirror on his own, but he managed to do it with only the S facing backward. When he arrived at the work site, there were about ten guys hovering around the coffee table who nearly pulled a gut muscle they laughed so hard.

  "Somebody lost a bet," they guffawed.

  "What'd you do to earn that, buddy?" they chided through wide grins.

  "Fall asleep drunk?" somebody yelled.

  But Sam only smiled. "What can I say, guys? I'm doing it for a girl."

  A chorus of laughter started up fresh.

  "Hope she's worth it," somebody shouted.

  "Damn straight she is," Sam said.

  The guys seemed to understand. Not that it won him any less ribbing--they now referred to him exclusively as "Loser" and randomly started singing the famous Beck song every time they passed him--but there were good hearts behind it. They knew that sometimes you had to go to extreme lengths for a woman. Especially a woman like Frankie.

  It was all worth it the moment he saw her face. He made sure he was front and center when she drove up on site.

  She scowled at him when she saw his smirk, but he didn't mind. In fact, he found he liked getting her all riled up.

  "Morning, loser," she said.

  "Morning, Princess" he said, grinning.

  "Princess?" she asked.

  "If you get to call me loser, I get to call you Princess."

  "Whatever," Frankie said with a huff.

  "I'm thinking water ballet lessons for our first date. What do you think?"

  "I'll have my aqua-tutu ready," she said.

  Every morning that week was the same.

  "Morning, loser," she'd say.

  "Morning, Princess," he'd say.

  Then he'd tell her his next ideas for their outing. So far, he'd come up with alligator wrestling, knitting tea cozies at a basketball game, nude base-jumping, and a comedy improv class. Each time, she was ready with a fast quip. It had gotten to the point where their little interactions were drawing quite a crowd.

  And each day, she seemed to be getting more and more nervous. He was pretty sure she hadn't expected him to follow through. But he was a man of his word. And he was determined to have his chance.

  By the time Thursday rolled around, she looked practically ill.

  "Morning, loser," she said.

  "Morning, Princess" he said. "You know what? I'm fresh out of ideas for what we should do on our date."

  "That didn't take long," she quipped.

  "But I do know one thing."

  "Oh yeah?"

  "Yeah. I'm betting you've got some nice legs under those jeans. And I want to see you in a dress."

  The crowd hooted and wolf-whistled.

  Her fresh-faced complexion turned bright red. Her voice turned to daggers. "I'm not a dress person."

  "I'm not so sure about that. Besides, you promised to do whatever I wanted. Are you going back on our agreement?"

  "I'm no welch."

  "Then I'd get your high heels ready."

  She stormed away from him, calling over her shoulder. "You haven't won yet."

  But he knew he would. And he couldn't wait.

  #

  Later that night, Sam met Vic at Three Sisters. True to his word, Vic showed up promptly at six and endured all of Sam's questions. Sam had already learned about the basic clan system and how odd it was that he'd been raised outside of one. Vic had also told him that there were all kinds of different shifters in the world--wolves, tigers, panthers, lions--you name it. There were even rumors that a handful of dragons and mermaids still existed. If Sam hadn't been accustomed to dealing with the strangeness of his own reality, he might have laughed in Vic's face. But who was he to say mermaids didn't exist? If he, himself, existed, then anything was possible.

  They'd been talking for over an hour when Sam finally brought up the thing he wanted to know most.

  "So ... how does it work with girls?"

  "Slick and tight if you're doing things right," Vic laughed.

  "Not what I meant," Sam said, trying to tamp down a flare of annoyance. He hated it when men made jokes like that. It was primitive. He might be a bear, but he wasn't an animal. "I mean with relationships. Long-term stuff."

  "Supposedly, we bond with our mate--the person that's the best match for us. But I don't know. Lots of people claim it doesn't exist. Lots of people get hitched without bonding."

  "Bonding?"

  "Like, fall in love right away or whatever. It's never happened to me, and I sort of think it's an excuse to make the rest of us feel like assholes. You know, how like everyone always says they just love being parents, even while their kid is screaming in their face."

  "What's it supposed to feel like when you see your--" Sam searched for the word Vic had used, "your mate for the first time?"

  "I don't know. It's some instantaneous thing where you just know you're supposed to be with that person forever or something. Some people describe it as a physical thing; some it's more mental. Like a switch gets flipped inside you that makes all the other chicks disappear. Which, personally, sounds like the worst fucking thing ever. But, like I said, I'm not sold it exists at all."

  "I think," Sam said. "I think that happened to me."

  Sam watched Vic's face grow hard and wondered if Vic was more upset about not finding love than he was trying to make out. But Vic recovered quickly.

  "With who?" Vic asked.

  "Actually, it just happened recently. She lives here in town. Her name's Frankie."

  "But I thought you said you'd never met another shifter?"

  "She's not a shifter. At least I don't think she is."

  "You'd probably smell it if she was. Like with me. There are ways to mask it, but most shifters don't bother."

  It was yet another fact to add to Sam's growing list of knowledge.

  "Honestly, though? Bonding with a human is supposed to be really rare. Like, nearly impossible. And it usually doesn't go well."

  "What do you mean?"

  "You ever tried to tell anyone about what you could do?"

  Sam remembered the first time he'd shifted. He'd been only fourteen years old, and had spent three days hiding in a local park before he figured out how to turn back into himself. Even when he went home and Agatha hounded him about where he'd been, he still didn't tell her the truth. It was a full year later when she caught him in the act and revealed they were the same.

  "That's what I thought," Vic said. "Humans are fragile. They don't like their worlds to be disrupted. There's plenty of history of killer mobs hunting down shifters. We might be strong, but there's a hell of a lot more of them than there are of us. That's why we don't tell. Not ever."

  Sam couldn't argue with that. It was exactly what he'd always been afraid of: being an outcast, or worse. He'd had frequent nightmares of cold steel tables and flickering fluorescent lights and doctors in masks with sharp scalpels ready to tear him apart.

  "If I were you, I'd leave your lady friend alone. It's really for your own good."

  Sam left feeling conflicted. Vic was probably right, but could he really live life knowing Frankie existed and not try to be with her? It seemed completely impossible.

  Chapter Six

  Francesca

  Frankie tied her hair up in a ponytail. Then she let it down
. Then she put it back up again.

  "Hey, come on," Mikey shouted from outside the door. "You're not the only one who needs in the bathroom."

  "There are two bathrooms in this house," Frankie shouted.

  "Yeah, but this one's more spacious."

  Frankie rolled her eyes. What was it with men and their bathrooms? Each of her brothers had a favorite that they considered their personal domain.

  "How much space do you need to do your business?" Frankie said, cracking the door.

  Mikey rubbed his ample belly. "Considering the chili fries I ate last night, a lot."

  "You're disgusting. And I still need a minute," she said, letting the door fall open. "Go downstairs."

  "Aw, jeez. You're in here doing your hair? I'm pretty sure there's nothing you could do to that mop that's gonna make that guy back off. He seems pretty determined."

  "No shit," Frankie said, taking her hair down again. "I'm just trying to minimize how big of an idiot I'm going to look like when he does whatever he's got planned. With what I put him through, it's got to be pretty bad." She'd changed her shirt three times this morning too, finally settling on an uncharacteristic berry-colored sweater with a deep v-neckline that an aunt had given her two years ago for Christmas but that she'd never worn. If she was going down, she was going down in style.

  Mikey smirked and leaned on the doorjamb. "Word is, the guy's for real."

  "Mikey Thompson," she admonished, turning to face him. "Do you have money on this too?"

  "Huh? No," he said, standing to his full height. He sounded a little hurt. "Give me a little credit. I wouldn't do that to my own sister."

  Frankie raised her eyebrows and gave him a look, stuffing her hair back through the ponytail holder.

  "Okay, maybe I would. I mean, it would be kinda funny. But only if I did it. Do you really think me and Eddie and Jamie would let somebody else mess with you like that?"

  This, she had to admit, was probably true. As much shit as her brothers gave her, they'd always had a very low tolerance for her getting shit from anyone else.