The Alpha's a Bitch: Rise Of The Pack Princess Complete: A Paranormal Werewolf Romance

by Cera D. Colby

  Simon now stood just ahead of Kahn. He was close enough to see him eye to eye but just out of reach for him to rip through his neck if he so decided to quickly change into his animal form. “You must have fallen in love with playing the role of a mortal. Are you in love with someone, Kahn?”

  What? How could Simon possibly know what went on in The Garden? It had been more than six years with no contact. Was it possible there could be another mole in The Garden Kahn was unaware of?

  His silence brought Simon the enlightening conclusion he was looking for.

  Simon pointed a lengthy finger in Kahn’s direction and informed him he would be tortured by every means they had, and if he did not comply and give him the information on the royal family’s structure and development as requested, that he would be put to death. A slow and painful death.

  In return, Kahn spit to the cobblestone at Simon’s feet, “I would rather die than sentence the just to an unjustly providence.”

  “Then your fate is already sealed,” Simon said before locking his hands behind his back and tuning away.

  “That’s right,” Kahn called out, his voice bouncing off the walls throughout the cell.

  “Send in your henchmen to finish what you started… little man.” Once again he struggled to free himself but failed. The sound of iron clashing together informed him of Simon’s departure. Seconds later, he sniffed at the air and grumbled to a familiar scent.

  He was of course frantic. And throughout all this time, he thought only of her.

  Book 3: The Alpha’s a Bitch: Rise Of The Pack Princess Chapter 5

  Nightfall brought an unprecedented cold throughout the Other Wolves campsite and all of Canaan Valley. There were dozens of werewolves around, but most were turning in for the evening. The patrolling animals from earlier that day were on the prowl, with an additional pair on the outskirts. They beefed up the security at night, and on this brisk evening it was a good thing they did.

  From the darkness surrounding the Other Wolves, came a hooded figure in a dark robe. Unbeknownst to the patrolling wolves, as the bordering set crossed paths, the dark robed figure attacked, simultaneously ramming fine steel and silver-blended daggers into their skulls. They instantly ceased movement and lay still, while the dark robed figure stealthily hustled along the outer rim of the Other Wolves camp.

  It wasn’t long at all before the dark robed figure came upon the second set of watchdogs.

  Crouching before them, lowered on all fours, the dark robe glided across the snow-filled area, resembling a shadow beside either of the large beasts. It appeared as if the werewolves could not sense the presence of imminent danger, or the scent of their intruder. Once, inches ahead of death, the dark robe struck once again, leaving two more victims of a sharp and bloody bereavement on the path.

  Who might this assassin be; this skilled warrior of the night that was so destined to reach its target?

  Traveling by what seemed to be only independence, the dark robe scurried closer to the makeshift cave where our hero’s faint yelps could be heard above the cries of a blustery wind, brushing through the brusque nocturnal.

  ~~~~~~~~~

  Meanwhile, Kahn was heavily leaking thick, blood sweat, hanging from the center of his cell. He was somewhat transformed, only partially werewolf – thick grey hairs, over-the-top of his masculine physique, and sharp teeth. He was attached to silver bracelets, suspended in chains. His body was battered and badly bruised, his face was gravely swollen.

  “You ready for part 2?” asked a young man in his early thirties, with a low haircut, black hair and a light smile. He had a very interesting scar on the lower part of his chin. His voice was deep, with a deep southern accent.

  He was the owner of the last voice Kahn remembered hearing before being hit upside the head with a shotgun earlier this evening. Now he’s banging together extra-large jumper cables, lifting them over his head and clanging them together three more times before clamping them to both Kahn’s forearms.

  And through a lock jawed grill, Kahn said, “You’re gonna wish you hadn’t done this.”

  Kahn’s torturer replied, “But I’m having so much fun.”

  “You’re not even of this clan.” Kahn said.

  His torturer looked over his shoulder and shook his head with a sinister bearing, turned back to Kahn and in turn sucked his teeth five times while continuing to shake his head. Kahn turned a partially closed eye toward his torturer’s attention, spit a fresh load of blood to the ground, and laughed under his breath.

  “Maybe I should knock you back out. Like that gun-butt I did ya?” the torturer asked of his role in this capture. He waited for Kahn’s response. All remained silent and then he said, “Well, I don’t care what anyone says about ya, I liked you better unconscious.”

  Kahn simply looked to his torturer. “You plan on finishing what you started?”

  His torturer caught him with a solid right hand right to the face. He yelled, “What does that tell ya?” and laughed.

  Kahn’s head lowered; his reply was a low growl.

  ~~~~~

  Just then the dark robed figure entered the makeshift cell without further incident. Upon reaching the cell door, from a black glove, a small, off white ball, golf ball in size, was released into the jailhouse lock of the steel door. It made a raindrop sound when it hit, dissolving away the lock system almost instantly. This was cleaver, using acid to breach the entryway. No loud boom. Spare the dramatics. A swift kick to the door and it was off the hinges.

  Stepping through, the associate was spotted and taken down with a swiftly maneuvered spinning kick to either jaw. Spinning back around to face Kahn and his torturer, the dark robe released another acid-filled ball; one to the chain links above Kahn’s head, and the other to his shackles. The torturer reached out to stop the first ball, but swiped an unlucky foot at the other, which ultimately resulted in his foot becoming a big blob of dripping lime green mush; he screamed in agony as he tried to get his boot off.

  And as this went on, Kahn hit the floor, jerking away at the shackled chains, eventually freeing himself with a struggling grunt; his eyes were fixed on the torturer. Without a word, the dark robed figure rushed over to the torturer, thrust one of those finely crafted silver daggers across his neck with one hand, and covered his mouth with the other. Pulling the torturer close, dark robe whispered something into his ear, caught him with the lower palm to chin, and pushed him over to his downed associate.

  “Who are you?” Kahn asked the robed figure, thankful for the help.

  It was almost as if the dark robe figure was mute. That was, until making its way over to Kahn it sweep kicked him off his feet and forced a cloth doused in chloroform over his nose and mouth. “Shh…” the dark robe whispered, looking back to the torturer and his associate once Kahn was out cold.

  Book 3: The Alpha’s a Bitch: Rise Of The Pack Princess Chapter 6

  The sound of music blaring, horns honking and loud chatter filled the air. But it was an airplane flying overhead that shook – rattled really – the darkness of his confines. And he quickly lifted the lid to find himself fully clothed – in his torturer’s garments – in a BFI garbage bin in some poor old transient’s scorching hot alley. Cardboard boxes, wine and beer bottles, old newspapers and cigarette butts were everywhere; along with the tiger striped cat with fish scales dangling from its chompers, running through a hole at the base of an abandoned brick townhouse.

  Twisting his head to see down both sides of the alley, there were large groups of people walking along the sidewalks to and fro. He soon realized that this was all unfamiliar territory. He leapt out the bin, looked to his wrists to see the large silver bracelets still in place, and his eyes widened once again as he remembered the dark robed figure.

  Kahn stalked the streets for clues. None. Better yet, he was searching for answers. Reluctant to speak with any of the strangers, he glanced at a few sets of license plates to find out where he was. Digging in his left jeans pocket he pu
lled out a big wad of cash. Nice! Now he suspected that the dark robe was an ally, and that they would eventually meet up once again.

  Days passed before he set eyes on a very familiar face at a stoplight. The streets were jam packed but he could tell it was his torturer, seated behind the wheel of a black Toyota Tacoma not even thirty yards away. But by now Kahn had new clothing, and was not spotted stepping out of Starbucks with a black coffee in hand.

  He casually sipped from the steamy cup, keeping his eyes on his nemesis. He decided to tail him on foot. Cautiously maneuvering through groups of people, street vendors and slow moving automobiles, he spotted a cab and hopped in. Now in his mind he wanted to rip his torturer to shreds. His thoughts also wandered back to The Garden, and he knew he would need the torturer alive if he wanted concrete evidence of any kind to convict all parties of treason, or now, as he suspected, something more sinister.

  The cab driver easily followed the torturers Tacoma. He left the city streets of Atlanta, Georgia and headed into a rural area about thirty miles away. Forest and back roads were all they saw for quite a long time before the torturer left the worn back road and sped down a dirt path.

  “He might be on to us,” Kahn told the taxi driver as he dropped a few $100 bills onto the front seat. “Stop and let me out here, before the situation gets even shiftier.”

  Minutes later as the cab faded away, Kahn reached into his waistband, pulled out a charcoal 40. Caliber semi-automatic, loaded a silver bullet into the chamber and then hustled off into the timberland.

  There was no doubt that the torturer was en route to Ryder’s campsite – her scent was in the air here, completely engulfing the landscape. Not even a mile into the hilly terrain and already Kahn spotted traditional, territorial markings – claw marks – on trees.

  One would tend to think these markings were made by a bear, a grizzly perhaps, or maybe even a large cat of some sort. But they were not – these markings were made by wolves like him. Or at least like the wolf he once was. He found a few faint animal tracks also, but no sign of any natural wildlife like you might expect this far out.

  The birds began to go silent another few miles in. It was a shame really, how he couldn’t morph into his inner beast. However, he still had amazing endurance, jogging at speeds and lengths any mortal could never keep up with without hyperventilating and passing out, dehydrated. He was ecstatic about this new discovery though, and pushed himself harder to reach the Tacoma. The closer he came to the truck; the more he yearned for the sight of Ryder.

  Book 3: The Alpha’s a Bitch: Rise Of The Pack Princess Chapter 7

  The path where Kahn’s torturer ventured inward eventually wore thin, completely diminishing after about eight miles. The ground here began to sink as the whole landscape seemed to change. He could see the tip of a waterfall as he ventured into a small clearing and analyzed the entire scene before picking up speed as he passed through. This was when he realized his ability of heightened smell was no longer an attribute, and that he was now available to unseen attacks because of his surroundings. But this was not the problem.

  Kahn knew three things to be true: He was a man. He was a hunter. He was a warrior.

  At the gorge’s pinnacle, a tall, sharply dressed man appeared and…

  Must be two of his henchmen…! he thought to himself. But are they friend or foe?

  “No one’s behind me,” he whispered to himself, spinning his sights back to the threesome. What? Where? Now only the tall man in that southern grey suit was visible.

  Kahn’s sandy hair immediately brushed toward his nose from both sides. His semi-auto was knocked into the air, smacking the bark of an old tree, landing on a rock where it discharged. He threw a left fist to the right, landing right in the eye of a grizzly, rather hairy faced, lumberjack dressed, chubby guy.

  The chubby guy grabbed at his bruised eye and asked, “What’s your problem?”

  And from behind, Kahn heard the hammer drop.

  As it turns out, Kahn was now being held at gunpoint by Erik, 2nd brother to Ashton, the tall man in the suit. The shabby fellow holding his now swollen eye was Dunne, the somewhat dimwitted brother just below Ashton.

  The eldest of the brothers demanded to know the purpose of Kahn’s travels through their private lands. Kahn of course lied to them, but with a bit of sarcasm, seeing that a 44 bulldog was still trained to the back of his head. Ashton briefly made direct eye contact with Erik. Erik lowered the gun, and Aston formally introduced himself and his family while tending to his more, needy sibling.

  “Our purpose here is to survey the area and monitor all activity,” Ashton said in a slow southern drawl. “There is a great presence of treachery here in the air; even the wildlife can sense the anger and hostility.”

  Kahn was still feeling a bit uneasy, so he didn’t introduce himself, not really trusting the strangers who were holding him at gunpoint. Instead, he tested their intentions, and as cool as a fan, he made way for his semi-automatic. Aston and his brothers looked on without discomfort. Dunne even snickered a bit at Kahn’s actions, underneath his breath, as Kahn reached his pistol.

  Ashton said, “You’re just the man I was hoping to meet. I hope you’re not planning on using that on us, Kahn.”

  What? Kahn immediately got a cold chill surging through his body. “How do you know my name?” he asked them. “No one from these parts knows me.”

  “Who said we were from these parts?” Aston retorted. “We were sent by the council to aid you.”

  “Councilwoman Reah?” Kahn suggested, picking up his gun.

  “I am not at liberty to discuss our matters with the council. However, I can tell you we’re in the midst of a brewing legion of werewolves that we have never encountered in our lifetime, Kahn… or the one before us.”

  “A forging alliance against the royal families and their council, aye…?” Kahn said, lacking enthusiasm. “I’ve suspected that in West Virginia.”

  He immediately thought of his torturer. “The man with a scar on his chin…” He smirked. “And one foot. Yeah, I was following him. I’m positive he is on his way to Ryder’s camp…”

  “He is only the messenger.” Ashton interrupted. “Your skill and technique is way beyond his level of expertise. We’re aware of his presence, but he is not a threat. You are unable to change, and this is a good thing, for you now have no discernible wolf scent, only the presentation of man.”

  It was a few seconds before Kahn finally placed the pistol back inside his pants at his lower back. Without movement from the brothers, he nonchalantly made his way to them. “So what are you saying then?” he asked.

  “I’m saying…” a big smile formed on his lips before he went on, “that you’re the best man for the job.” Ashton replied. “You’re the infiltration man.”

  That was music to Kahn’s ears.

  Book 3: The Alpha’s a Bitch: Rise Of The Pack Princess Chapter 8

  For weeks afterward, Kahn and the brothers staked out Ryder’s Camp. It was not actually Ryder’s clan, though she was not far from the Alpha. In fact the role belonged to her father, and after her father, to her brother; her twin brother, David. No one ever left during this time. The camp was quiet, except for the daily sparing matches during training exercises.

  The brothers stayed separated throughout the days, Erik and Duncan, circling the perimeter in shifts. Kahn found that they were incredibly swift on their feet, whether in their human or animal form, they glided over the earth, silent to most. Ashton staked out too, camouflaged in the brush, with Kahn. They mostly chatted about their agendas while the camera captured the activity below. The whole while, Ryder never appeared.

  But David did.

  Two months into the stakeout and he was spotted coming from his cave, changing into a large brown haired werewolf. He pounced through the clearing and off into the night.

  “Remember the plan.” Ashton reminded Kahn, a grip on his shoulder, a wink in his eye.

  “I know what to do,�
� Kahn responded, taking three steps back, he turned and took off after David.

  Through the streams and dark passages made by Erik and Duncan, Kahn practically flew through the wild of night, in pursuit of his mark. Surprisingly, the werewolf was not that fast, or not that far away. Kahn heard the almost muted leaves ruffle in the darkness. He found himself wandering into an area he had not traveled through in all his months here.

  About half a mile away, from the eight or so trekked previously, he saw the bright lights of what could be… a gas station, maybe? It was just beyond the foliage. Ahead of him, he witnessed the silhouette of a beast transform back into the David he’d seen less than ten minutes ago. And as he stepped out of the forest, car horns blared before the impact of an accident occurred.

  It seemed as if David had just caused a five car collision. Kahn took it that a naked man stepping out of the forest and onto a country road wasn’t quite that popular in these parts. If it was then there should be cars backing up instead of piling up.

  Kahn emerged from the forest and got a hundred stares himself from quizzical eyes through beaming headlights. He threw an open hand up, to blurt out the shine, and spotted David taking a left, into an alley, where he followed and lost him. There was a hobo in the dark alley, shivering. Kahn paused briefly to give the guy a look, and the poor sap only talked about his trench coat.

  “The fool stole my trench! My blanket and tranquility,” the hobo said rapidly, pointing in the thief’s direction. “Find him and get my trench back. I need my blanket and tranquility.”

  Kahn dashed off before the hobo could finish his spiel, gazed at the dry concrete below and followed the wet human footprints – his werewolf’s blood boiled within this human vessel. The prints stopped near a wired fence. Peering through, to the yard there and beyond, Kahn saw the trench – the threadbare trench coat. It was David alright – in the trench he borrowed from the hobo. He headed back out into the streets. Kahn scaled the fence and proceeded in the chase.