Jacob (Alexander Shifter Brothers Book 3)

by Selina Coffey

  “Oh.” Felix let slip before he could stop himself.

  “OH? What does oh mean?” Angel asked.

  “Stay calm now. Breathe deep, yes, like that, now close your eyes. What do you notice?” Felix asked her. He watched as she looked confused at first but then wonder filled her face.

  “What is that, Felix? It’s like two little sparks of light and a weird feeling, like an afterglow, of happiness.”

  “That’s our babies, Angel. You’re seeing our babies and feeling their emotions. That emotion part will fade as they age but you’ll always be able to find that spark. If you’re looking for them you’ll even see lines sometimes. I remember hearing were-mothers talking about it, colored lines will guide you to both babies, no matter where they are.”

  “Oh my, that is very cool! What a wonderful gift! Wait! The oh! Does that mean something then, this seeing my babies like this?”

  “Yes, darling it does. That itchy feeling is the mark of the bear coming out on your hip. You must have been changed when you had the babies. This is wonderful! I can teach all three of you now! Are you alright with this darling? I guess it’s a little too late to ask now, but it is a big step.”

  “Dearest husband of mine, it’s more than I could have ever asked. I have you, our babies, and a long life ahead of all of us. There was a time when I hoped a short life awaited me but not anymore. I’ll greedily take every single day I’m given. And I do mean greedily. Every day with you is a gift and I hope we have many more to come.”

  Each parent took a baby then, both eager to hold their creations, and showed them the mark in the shape of a bear paw on their hips, a mark both of their parents wore.

  “We’ll have plenty of days my darling, I promise. You’ve grown so much; you’ve become so confident, fierce, and brave. You’ve been brave your whole life but now, now you’re something different. I’m glad I’m the one you chose to share that with. A new life for us all, and I couldn’t be prouder of you. I love you babe.”

  “I love you too, Felix. Now and always.”

  The End

  Dominick - The Hunted Wolf

  Werewolf Shifter Romance

  About the Book

  When Alicia Melnick moved from Nowheresville, Oregon to New York City, everyone warned her how dangerous the city was. Her mother gave her mace. Her father taught her how to punch. Her friends warned her to stay away from Wall Street guys. The thing no one thought to warn her about? Werewolves.

  So when Alicia gets her first day off work in months and sees a gorgeous stranger in a bar, the last thing she thinks is that he might be something other than human. But Dominick Green isn’t just any guy, and he isn’t even just any werewolf. He’s on the run…and unfortunately, Alicia has managed to stumble right into the mess.

  Dominick might be doing his best to keep her safe, but in New York, nothing can be kept a secret. Someone has seen Alicia and Dominick together— and now they’re determined to use her to track him down.

  Chapter 1

  When I moved to New York, everyone was so busy telling me to watch out for the rich Wall Street guys that no one remembered to warn me about werewolves. And I’ve met a few Wall Street guys now—they’re definitely the less dangerous of the two. I mean, maybe some of them are going to be like that one movie with the guy cutting people to bits, but mostly they just have really nice suits and they expect you to sleep with them because they have a Mercedes. Annoying at worst. Werewolves, on the other hand…they can cut you in half with one swipe, their teeth are serrated, and they move fast.

  But let’s be honest: even if anyone, literally anyone, had thought to say to me, Alicia, don’t get mixed up with werewolves, I wouldn’t have listened. Mostly that would have been because I didn’t think werewolves existed, but the other thing about werewolves, the thing I didn’t mention earlier? Werewolves are hot.

  I didn’t know Dominick Green was a werewolf to start with, though. I didn’t know anything other than that he was over in the corner of the bar looking like the hero in some action film, with a shirt that might have been painted on. Those pecs. The point is, the moment I saw him, I wanted to touch him, and before I even had a chance to think he was out of my league, I was up and walking over to his booth.

  To be honest, I don’t even remember getting up. I was walking towards him, knowing my heels made my legs look miles long and my tank top was the perfect mix of innocent and sexy, and he looked up when I was halfway across the room, like he could see me watching him. His eyes were black, and when I tell people this, they think I mean really dark brown. I don’t. I mean black. I couldn’t see any hint of pupils, and it should have been unsettling, but those eyes were set up above cheekbones to die for, his jaw looked sharp enough to cut glass, and his nose had just the slightest bit of a bump to it, like maybe he’d been in a fight at some point. Yum.

  Even better, I could tell he liked what he saw. His eyes skimmed appreciatively over my light brown hair, done up in a messy French braid, across my lips, soft and pink, and then down over the curves I was showing off shamelessly. To be honest, this was dressed down for me—first thing I did when I got to New York was get a job as a cocktail waitress. It means I get to sleep in every morning, but on the flip side, every day I’m shimmying into something black and slinky, blowing my hair out, and putting on a ton of makeup. I tell you, the bar is set higher for cocktail waitresses in New York than it is in Nowheresville, Oregon. Maybe someone should have warned me about that one, too; I think I’ve spent half the money I’ve made so far on more clothes.

  Point was, eyeliner and lip balm and a white tank top were about as dressed down as I ever got anymore. I felt comfortable and cute as hell as I slid into the booth with him.

  “Do I know you?” he asked, and his voice sent shivers all down my spine.

  “I don’t think so. I just wanted to get to know you.” I took a sip of my beer, mostly to mask the fact that my pulse was pounding. I could see him looking over my body, and weird black eyes or not, I know when a guy has the hots for me.

  “Did you.” Despite himself, he was smiling. “Well, I’m Dominick Green. And you are?”

  Damn. The man had all the manners of someone you’d bring home to meet your parents, and somehow his voice still had me wanting to take him home and straddle him on my couch. Or bed. Hell, on the floor, if he wanted.

  “Alicia Melnick,” I said, because I had just enough presence of mind to remember my own name.

  “So, Alicia.” He leaned forward on the table. “Tell me about you.”

  That smile was still in place, and I tried to keep myself from turning bright red. I think even then, that early, I knew he could hurt me, and hurt me bad—I didn’t think he would, mind you, but it was almost like my brain could see what was hiding there, all sharp teeth and claws. Unfortunately for me, my conscious mind was nowhere near as smart as the rest of me. All I could see was the muscles rippling over his shoulders and down his arms, and the way his dark hair looked so soft I just wanted to run my hands through it, and that smile…

  Damn. That smile. I would have run away with that smile in a second.

  It took me far too long to remember that he’d asked me something.

  “Right. Um.” I shrugged my shoulders. “I just moved here from Oregon.”

  “So that’s the accent.” Everyone else said it with one of those condescending New York faces, but he was teasing. I grinned and blushed, and hid my face by taking another sip of beer.

  “And I kind of wanted to be an actress when I grew up, so I came here to get away from home. Stupid—I don’t even want to be an actress anymore.”

  “What do you do?”

  Of all the people I’d met, he was the first one I was embarrassed to talk to about what I did. Everyone in this city is scraping by, but they like to pretend they’re better because you’re not living the life they want. It’s ridiculous. I just didn’t want Dominick to think so.

  “I’m a waitress.”

  “Why
aren’t you at work?” One dark eyebrow lifted conspiratorially. “Are you playing hooky?”

  “First night off in…” I tried to think. “Ugh. Too long. So, what do you do?”

  He paused to consider, and that was the first time I saw it: something cold and remote under the exterior. I’d known from the start that he was quiet, or he’d be up at the bar hitting on someone; hell, any girl here would go home with him. But he had that cowboy look, you know? Down to earth, strong-and-silent. And for just a moment, he looked as New York as one of the Wall Street guys in their suits. It was unnerving. I blinked.

  “I work in security,” he said finally, and I just sort of blinked at him. I mean, I supposed it made sense, but the fact was, he looked really sad when he said it.

  “I, uh....I see.” My beer was gone.

  “Can I get you another?”

  “Yes, please.” Him buying me drinks was good. I never thought good manners could be so sexy. My mother would be pleased; I thought about texting her, and decided not to. There was nothing to tell her, after all. Just that I’d met a nice guy and had a beer with him.

  Later, I’d be glad I hadn’t texted her. I was about to learn just how dangerous a well-mannered man could be.

  But we’ll get to that.

  He was back a moment later, sliding the beer across the table to me. His smile was wide.

  “Enjoy.” He nodded and headed for the door.

  “Wait!”

  “Yes?” He turned back as if he genuinely had no idea why I was asking him to stop.

  “Uh…where are you going?”

  “I have to leave,” he said, as if that was all there was to it.

  “No goodbye?” I was about to get on his case about manners, and he seemed to know it. He pointed.

  “I bought you a beer. It was nice talking with you.” And he turned to go again.

  “Wait a sec.” I slid out of the booth and followed him.

  “I really have to go.” There was just no getting behind those eyes, was there? The fact that this didn’t seem to be a play was surprisingly infuriating. We’d been having this great time and now he was just turning around and leaving, like none of it mattered at all.

  “Well…can I see you again?”

  “I don’t know,” he said. He seemed to have considered the question for longer than it should take. He thought for another moment, and then nodded. “I don’t know,” he repeated. “Is there a problem?”

  “It’s…look, we were having a nice time. Is it something I said?”

  “No,” he said blankly, as if blindsided by this avenue of discussion. He looked at his watched, then out the door, somewhat worriedly. “I have to go. You should stay here. Inside.”

  And he set off.

  The man did not know me very well. I pushed my way out onto the street behind him. His face, when he heard me, was genuinely terrified.

  “Why are you following me?”

  “I’m not following you,” I said contemptuously. “I live in the next building over.” And I’d been about five minutes from inviting him upstairs, but whatever. “Goodnight, Mr. Green.”

  “Get inside,” he said, almost a plea, and I lost it.

  “Yeah, you don’t like me. I get it.”

  “It isn’t that, I just—“

  “Whatever.” I walked away without a backwards glance.

  My shoes got thrown across the room when I got home, which relieved my hurt pride somewhat, and my tank top and skirt followed them. I washed my face and brushed my teeth and went to bed seething. Never mind that all I could seem to think about was that bastard and his sexy, smug smile. He was still making my breath come short and I couldn’t even say why.

  God, everyone had been right about New York men.

  I went to sleep still angry, and the next thing I remember after that was waking up to sunlight, with someone banging on my door like they wanted to bring it down.

  Chapter 2

  “All right, all right, all right, I’m coming!” I tumbled out of bed with a thump, muttering something about Sundays and landlords and stupid men who bought you drinks and didn’t have the decency to come home with you afterwards. My hair was a mess; it went into one of the worst buns I’ve ever made in my life and I splashed some water over my face, trying to wash away mascara and eyeliner.

  These people really wanted to piss everyone in the building off, though. They didn’t stop pounding on the door until I wrapped my bathrobe around me and wrenched the door open.

  “What? It’s eight in the morning, you—”

  They knew exactly what time it was. More to the point, I got the sense they didn’t care at all. They practically knocked me over to get into my apartment. All three of them were tall, at least 6’2”, and they walked into my apartment like they owned the place, looking all around themselves like they were going to try to catch me selling drugs. My eyes went to their waists to see if they were carrying guns. Were they undercover cops? Were they going to accuse me of something?

  No to the first one, but as it turned out, yes to the second.

  “Where the hell is he?” one of them demanded. “Where’s he staying?”

  “Wrong apartment.” I was scared out of my mind, but they didn’t need to know that. I crossed my arms, threw one hip out, and did my best New Yorker impression. “So get the hell out before I call the cops.”

  “Listen, lady.” This guy seemed to be their ringleader. He pushed me up against the wall and I squeaked before I could stop myself. “Where the hell is he? We know you saw him last night. You think you can hide him?”

  “I don’t…” His forearm was pressing against my windpipe, and spots were appearing in front of my eyes.

  I was genuinely terrified. Everything my mother had warned me about came rushing back: home intruders, robbers, murderers, rapists. They’d nearly beaten down my door and here I was with three of them in the apartment, and I couldn’t even fight one of them off.

  If there was any comfort, it was that the other two didn’t seem to be piling on. No one wanted to rip my pajamas off. In fact, neither of them were even checking me out at all. I gave them all a once over. They had the same look as Dominick, frankly, like maybe they boxed with bears in their spare time or something. Like someone had plucked a cowboy right out of Montana, put him in J Crew and sent him strutting around New York City. It was hot, but not particularly comforting when one of them was trying to choke me and the other two seemed interested neither in me nor in stopping him.

  I managed another squeak.

  “What was that?” The ringleader cocked his head to the side, and I got lost in his eyes. Black again, black on black—and that gave me the clue I needed.

  “You mean…Dominick?” The words came out of me before I could stop them, and I regretted it pretty much immediately—you know, when his arm pressed even harder.

  “That’s it. Where’s Dominick?”

  “I don’t—know—” I choked and thrashed.

  “You had a fight with him last night.” His arm loosened slightly over my windpipe.

  “How the hell do you know that?” At this point, maybe I should have been scared. I mean, they were spying on me, right? But the truth was, I was furious. Someone had watched me get shot down, and now they had the nerve to come into my apartment in the morning and ask me about where my not-actually-one-night-stand was. I was pissed.

  “We know a lot of what goes on in this city,” one of the other men said. He had shut the door neatly, so that no one in the hallway would watch me get choked to death. I was beginning to really hate that guy. He kept watching me like it was mildly interesting to see someone get beat up, but he didn’t really care, and maybe he’d rather go out for a hot dog instead. Screw him.

  “That’s nice,” I said savagely, and the first one slapped me.

  I made the mistake of spitting in his face. Like I said, I was pissed. The problem was, now so was he. He pushed me down on the ground and my arm was up behind my back before I cou
ld say a word. Worse? He’d done some weird thing that seemed to be squeezing all of the air out of my body. There went my plan of screaming loud enough to get someone to call the cops.

  “Search the apartment.” His voice was cold, and the two other guys trouped past me obediently, disappearing like wraiths into the shadows of my itty bitty two bedroom. I couldn’t decide whether to be happy my roommate wasn’t here to get caught up in this, or feel sorry that she wasn’t here to call the cops. Mostly sorry. As they went, the first man bent down to my ear, his voice cold as anything I’d ever heard. “You lied to me. You said you didn’t know what I was talking about. I’m not going to forget that, you know.”

  “I didn’t say that,” I had shivered convulsively at his voice. Now, I thrashed ineffectually. It didn’t accomplish anything, but it helped to feel like I was trying to get away. “I said you had the wrong apartment.”

  He was just shaking me to warm me up for his next witticism when the call came back from one of the other rooms.

  “He isn’t here.”

  “Told you,” I muttered, and he flipped me over onto my back. To this day, I don’t know what told me to be so afraid of him, but I lay there petrified. He didn’t have a knife, or a gun, or anything. I mean, true, he was ripped, but it was clear that he hadn’t actually tried to kill me so far. Still, I lay there in a total terror. It was like my brain knew, down somewhere deep, what my conscious mind was never, ever going to come up with: this guy looked like a human, but he had claws and teeth I couldn’t see, and he was going to maul me if I didn’t cooperate.

  “Then where is he?” he asked, crouching down over me, and I lost it.

  “I don’t know! Goddammit, what is your problem? I met him last night, he shot me down—I don’t know where the hell he is!”

  They looked at one another, as if assessing whether or not they thought I was telling the truth, and what’s-his-face considered me for a moment.