Her Alphas

by Gabrielle Holly

  Snarling and growling, Alex tore through the tough hide and hot jets of blood spurted into his mouth. The taste of it fueled his frenzy and he felt himself grow stronger as her energy flowed into him. He gulped at her life force until the doe’s movements slowed until finally she was still.

  When he was sated, Alex slumped down atop the still-warm body and shifted. The deer’s sticky fur felt rough against his human cheek. Deep within the animal’s chest, he heard the slow thud of a weak heartbeat. He slid down her body and pressed his ear to her rib cage. A ball of nervous energy gathered in Alex’s belly as he heard the heartbeat grow quicker and stronger. The doe’s fur seemed to pull inward until it disappeared entirely, leaving behind pale, smooth skin. Its musky smell was replaced with one much sweeter—and much more familiar.

  Alex sprang to his feet and watched as his prey took on human form. Its hooves became hands and feet. The front legs became arms and the rear morphed into plump thighs and shapely calves. Hips filled out and the center of the torso cinched inward to create a waist.

  Beautiful, full breasts bloomed from the chest, and Alex knew before looking at the face who was lying before him. He’d studied every sensual curve of that amazing body. With his heartbeat thundering in his ears, Alex forced himself to meet her gaze. Gwen swiped the blood from the side of her neck then propped herself up on her elbows. She opened her mouth as if to speak, but instead of words, she made the sickening bleat of a deer in distress.

  Alex sensed he was being watched and looked over his shoulder.” Charlene was standing behind him, shaking her head. “Tsk. Tsk. Tsk. I guess she should have been afraid of the big, bad wolf.”

  * * * * *

  The flight attendant had shaken Alex awake. Sweat had soaked the through his shirt and his mouth was dry.

  “Sir, you were having a nightmare,” she said.

  “I need a drink,” Alex muttered.

  “I’m sorry, sir, beverage service has ended. We’re starting our approach to O’Hare and—”

  Alex locked her in his stare. “Bring me a drink. Now.”

  Her hands were shaking when she returned with two airline-sized bottles of whiskey.

  After they landed in Chicago, Alex hurried to the men’s room, splashed cold water on his face, then changed into a fresh shirt from his carryon. He made the connecting flight with plenty of time to spare and avoided making eye contact with the crew or other passengers. He needed time to think and regroup.

  He spent the ninety-minute flight to Minneapolis playing the dream over in his mind. No doubt the images of Gwen becoming a werewolf were because of her constant nagging on the subject.

  Charlene was in the dream because it was almost moon week and his libido was overtaking his subconscious. For more than a year, his assistant had provided him with a willing outlet for his needs. The whole thing was smarmy but completely aboveboard. He’d needed someone to fuck on regular basis—no strings attached—and she’d enthusiastically signed the contract the network lawyer had drawn up for them. She liked sex. He needed sex. They saw each other every day at work. It was damn near perfect—while it lasted.

  After he’d met Gwen, he’d broken it off with Charlene. He’d been afraid that she had grown attached and would cause trouble for him—and for the show. In fact, she’d taken it all in stride. She’d already started seeing their cameraman, and Alex knew that Paul could give her something he couldn’t—love and commitment.

  An unexpected perk of breaking their personal contract was that Charlene had become an outstanding production assistant. She was now the glue holding The Dog Talker program together. From sourcing stories to schmoozing dog owners to keeping Alex on schedule, her skills were unmatched. Alex regretted that she’d spent the first year on staff as little more than an outlet for his out-of-control needs.

  If Charlene had ever suspected that there was something different about Alex, she didn’t let on. He was confident she’d never be able to guess exactly how different he was—not in her worse nightmares. And now she was starring in his nightmares—as the oversexed but highly-competent voice of reason.

  As for the other part of the dream—the part where Alex killed a deer that morphed into Gwen—he could only guess at the meaning. As soon as he got back to Talbot, he would consult Jeremiah Morgan, the pack’s shaman. Alex wished Morgan would finally give in and get a cellphone. Of course, with no electricity in that old cabin of his, he wouldn’t be able to charge it anyway.

  In the meantime, Alex tried to make sense of the omen. He always worried about Gwen when he was in L.A. filming. Even though his people were bound by pack law to protect her, werewolves were unpredictable. Knowing a law and abiding by it could be two very different things.

  For all the centuries-old rules and regulations the pack had in place, Gwen was still the variable. She was headstrong and impulsive and—despite all evidence to the contrary—she seemed to think she was invincible.

  He’d first met her when she and that couch-potato dog of hers were under attack by a cougar. Instead of rolling into a ball and covering the back of her neck as she should have, Gwen had charged at the big cat, waving her arms and screaming at it to get the fuck off her dog. Alex had arrived on the scene seconds later and, as far as she was concerned, he’d saved her.

  Someday he’d have to explain to her that the cougar was bound by the same law as his pack and, in fact, wasn’t a cat at all. But that was a discussion for another day. Right now, he was focused on making sure she was okay and easing his mind.

  * * * * *

  Alex guided the vintage Corvette onto the highway and tilted his head to work the kinks from his neck. Once he’d pulled his car out of the long-term parking ramp at the Minneapolis airport, Alex had voice-commanded the wireless to dial Gwen’s number. He’d spent an obscene amount outfitting the cherry ’72 Corvette with state-of-the-art electronics, but he had plenty of money. It was patience he was short on.

  After the first ring, he cleared his throat and concentrated on keeping his tone light. After the fourth ring, he started tapping the steering wheel. “C’mon, Gwen, pick up.”

  When the ringtone shortened, indicating that he was about to be rolled over to voicemail, Alex shook his head. “End call,” he instructed the wireless system.

  Shit!

  Alex ran a hand through his hair. Why was he so agitated? Was it the moon or something else? “Call Sergei,” he instructed.

  The Russian picked up on the first ring. “Hello, Alex.”

  Trying to disguise his rising panic, Alex replied with what he hoped was nonchalance. “Hey, Markov. How’re you doin’? Have you seen Gwen?”

  There was a long pause and Alex realized that his predecessor could read his mood—even though the conversation was bouncing off satellites positioned high above the earth.

  “I have not seen her, friend. I am driving the road. I have just left the livestock market in Seidel. Is everything well?”

  Alex did a quick mental calculation. The town of Seidel was just over an hour from Talbot. Markov was hundreds of miles closer to home than Alex was. “Oh, yeah, everything’s fine. I just got in from L.A. and Gwen’s not picking up. No big deal, but if you don’t mind checking on her when you get back—”

  “It is done, pack master.”

  Sergei ended the call without saying goodbye. As soon as Alex was clear of the metro area, he pressed the Stingray’s accelerator until the pedal was to the floor. He listened to the whine of the engine as it revved through the gears then glanced at the speedometer and watched the needle sweep clockwise until it hovered at 160.

  Chapter Three

  Gwen’s stomach knotted and she swallowed down the bile that rose in her throat.

  Fight or flight.

  A storm of options raced through her mind as she stood trembling on the forest path. The two dogs were in front of her at the edge of the clearing, and one didn’t have to be an expert in animal behavior to read their body language. Their ears were back, their heads
were down and their hackles were raised. The low, rumbling growls caused her hair to stand on end. The message was clear. There was danger ahead.

  “Bob, Jezebel, come,” she whispered.

  The golden retriever and black lab didn’t move from their post.

  “C’mon guys, let’s go home. Who wants a cookie?” she hissed.

  Neither animal moved.

  Gwen wished she’d grabbed her grandfather’s rifle before leaving the cabin. Not that she’d know how to use it, but she thought just having it in her hand would have made her feel safer.

  The memory of last year’s cougar attack washed over her. The big cat had sprung out of nowhere, faced off with them and left Jezebel with a gushing wound at the neck. Gwen had gotten away from the encounter with a sprained ankle and a bruised ego, but Jez had required many stitches to close the long, ragged claw marks.

  If Alex hadn’t come along…

  He’d arrived on the scene in the nick of time and fired a rifle blast over the big cat’s head. Even if she couldn’t hit the broad side of a barn, she could at least pull a trigger and make enough racket to scare off a predator. Why hadn’t she brought the rifle with her?

  Gwen patted the pockets of her jacket and jeans, hoping that she’d find her cellphone there—and knowing that she wouldn’t. With sickening clarity, she could picture where she’d left it—in the Jeep’s cup holder. Alex had told her not to go anywhere without her cell. If she’d only listened, she could have rung up any one of the pack members and they would have been at her side in an instant.

  Without a means to protect herself or call for help, Gwen weighed her options. She could arm herself with a fallen branch, try to outrun whatever was lurking ahead, or curl up in the fetal position and hope for the best. None of those choices seemed to lean in her favor. Instead she muttered, “Fuck it,” and crept up between the dogs.

  “Shh,” she soothed as she reached down to stroke their heads. “Damn the torpedoes, babies, let’s go see what’s what.”

  Gwen stepped out from the shadows and into the sunshine that bathed the clearing. It took her a moment to see what the dogs were upset about and, when she did, she breathed out a sigh of relief. At the far edge of the clearing, she spotted Jenny. The little blonde was kneeling in front of a brush pile with her back to them and her head bowed. In spite of the chill in the air, Jenny wore only a tank top and cutoff jeans shorts. The dirty soles of her bare feet showed beneath her narrow ass.

  Gwen ruffled the dog’s fur and strode out between them. “Come on, you goofballs. It’s just Jenny,” she whispered. She’d reached the center of the clearing and was about to call out Jenny’s name when something stopped her. Call it instinct, intuition or just a gut reaction, but Gwen realized in a sudden and sickening instant that something was very wrong.

  She’d started inching backward toward the shelter of the forest when Jenny turned and locked her in her stare. Jenny’s eyes were wild and her face was smeared with blood. Gwen’s instinct was to flee, but she knew she’d never be able to outrun a werewolf—even one that was still in human form. With no other choice, she held her ground.

  “Jenny, is everything okay?”

  Gwen felt the nudge of the dogs’ bodies against her calves. “Easy,” she whispered.

  Jenny’s lips curled back to reveal long canine teeth on either side of her incisors. Gwen forced herself to look away from the wolf-woman’s face long enough to assess the scene. Tufts of gray fur and bloody carcasses were scattered around the spot where Jenny kneeled and a pair of squirming rabbits were pinned under one of her legs.

  In the new werewolf’s hand was the remains of what Gwen supposed had been the mother rabbit. Jenny snarled and snapped before seeming to calm and gain control of herself. She glanced at the gory mess in her fist, then opened her fingers and let it fall to the ground. Her expression turned from feral to remorseful and she lifted her knee, letting the surviving bunnies escape into the underbrush.

  Jenny guiltily swiped the blood from her mouth and rubbed her soiled hands over her shorts. “I’m sorry. I was just so hungry.”

  Gwen’s mouth went dry. There was something in Jenny’s eyes and in her voice that raised alarms. She’s crazy! Gwen hoped that the pack’s newest werewolf didn’t have the same unique gifts that Alex had. If she possessed a fraction of his ability to read minds, Gwen might as well have slit her own throat right then and there.

  There was no way of knowing what special powers the little blonde possessed. The best course of action was to assume they were on a level playing field—if not physically, then at least psychically.

  Gwen forced an empathetic smile on her face. “Come with me back to the cabin, Jenny. I’ve got steaks in the freezer.”

  * * * * *

  Bitch.

  Jenny sat at the kitchen table and watched Gwen prepare the meal. She’d washed the rabbit blood from her hands and face while the steaks were defrosting in the microwave.

  “How do you like it?” Gwen asked.

  “Rare please,” Jenny replied, hoping that her voice didn’t betray her hatred.

  Actually, she preferred her meat still twitching, but that bitch had interrupted her little picnic in the clearing. Sergei would be furious if he found out she’d been out in the open like that with her back exposed. And she knew she wasn’t supposed to hunt during the day, but she couldn’t help herself.

  Jenny had been so restless she had gone out for a run and when she smelled the rabbit’s nest, something just snapped. God, they had tasted so good and the way they squirmed as she ate them alive had turned her on. She’d been in a frenzy and it was all she could do not to attack Gwen when she’d snuck up on her.

  Someday.

  Jenny glared at Gwen’s back as she dropped the steaks into the cast-iron skillet. It would be so easy to snap that cunt’s neck. She could throw her body in the back of the truck, maybe grab her purse and some luggage too, then dump everything somewhere far away where the others couldn’t pick up the scent. Jenny could be back at the farm before Sergei got home from the livestock auction. Everyone would just think their human consort had skipped town because she couldn’t hack it.

  Danger. The word popped into Jenny’s mind out of nowhere, interrupting her murder plot. It wasn’t a word so much as an idea—a feeling—and it came from outside her own consciousness. Jenny could sense where the thought had come from and she turned toward the fireplace.

  Gwen and Alex’s dogs were lying on the carpet in front of the hearth staring at her. Jenny shot them a look, but they didn’t flinch. Apparently the telepathic connection was one way. She wondered why she had only “heard” a single thought from them and how much of hers they understood.

  The other pack members could easily communicate telepathically with animals and each other, but Jenny wasn’t quite there yet. Sergei promised it would happen eventually. He’d sounded nonchalant, but Jenny could tell he was concerned. She knew it frustrated and confused him that he couldn’t read her thoughts and silently communicate his.

  Alex had said that some new werewolves took longer than others to realize the full extent of their powers. He’d told her that her physical development was way ahead of schedule and suggested perhaps that was why her psychic abilities were lagging.

  Speed was Jenny’s greatest asset. Sergei was nearly two feet taller than she, but even with his long legs he couldn’t keep up with her at a full-out sprint. She didn’t have the stamina to outrun him for any distance, but that was improving every day. Soon they’d be the strongest couple in the pack and, once her other gifts developed, they’d be the most powerful.

  Technically Gwen and Alex weren’t the alpha couple. Alex was the leader, but his chosen mate was just a mortal. As pack consort, Gwen had the highest possible status of any human, but she was still human. Even Jenny outranked her.

  The cave was the only place Gwen was above everyone else. There she was untouchable. The elders had explained this to Jenny before the night of her first
change, but they needn’t have bothered. The instant they’d crossed the threshold, the magic was palpable. It was as if Gwen had been wrapped in an invisible cocoon. Jenny couldn’t have harmed her if she’d wanted to.

  Not that she’d wanted to at first. She’d been so afraid of what was about to happen to her that she was grateful to be with her human consort. Then Jenny’s mood had shifted with her body and she’d flung herself against the cell bars, threatening to rip out Gwen’s throat if she got close enough. Gwen had just smiled that annoying fucking smile of hers and waited until Jenny had howled the rage out of her system. The next morning, after she’d returned to human form, the anger had all drained away and Jenny had felt an overwhelming love for Gwen. Sergei had told her that her feelings were normal. It was just part of the magic of the change.

  It didn’t take long for the magic to wear off. Most fledglings only had to spend two or three cycles locked in the cell during the nights of moon week. Jenny had to spend four. The alpha and the human consort decided together when a new werewolf was ready. She’d tried to play nice with Gwen and not snap or snarl or threaten to gut her, but the wolf overtook her every time.

  After the third month, Jenny had sobbed when Alex told her she’d have to spend another seven nights in that fucking prison. He’d said he was sorry, but it couldn’t be helped. Until she had gained some control, she posed a danger to humans. She also risked being killed by the other pack members who, when shifted, would instinctively view her behavior as weakness and attack.

  Alex had some bullshit theory that Jenny’s outbursts had something to do with her former drug use—probably the psychedelics. He said her brain chemistry might have been altered, but part of becoming a werewolf was that the body healed itself from all the abuse it had taken while human. The process could take some time, but Alex assured her it would happen.

  Jenny didn’t know if she believed dropping a little acid at some concert two summers ago could be the cause of all her problems, but his theory had given her an idea. A few weeks before her last stint in the cell, she’d broken into his vet clinic and snagged a bottle of large-animal tranquilizers from the medicine cabinet. To make it look like a burglary, she’d also grabbed some other meds and pocketed the petty cash. By the time Alex got back from L.A. and reopened the clinic, her scent had dissipated and no one ever suspected who’d done it.