Alpha Blood

by Tamara Rose Blodgett

Which, of course, Tahlia loves. However, Drek said he needed to check in with Bowen, and she couldn’t be unguarded. She’s accustomed to that. At the Redwood, her status as princess necessitated constant guard.

  They just hadn’t been dickheads like Neil, as Tessa would say. Tahlia’s lips tweak at the memories of Tessa’s colorful use of human vernacular.

  She misses her. Soon, I’ll see Tessa soon.

  Guilt about putting this entire quest into motion kept her from arguing with Drek over the necessity of Neil’s watch. After all, it was Tahlia who was the one to coerce Drek with excuses of needing time. Essentially, Tahlia is stalling the mating ceremony. Or just plain stalling. It’s true that she wants to see the only friend she’s had since leaving the Lanarre of the Redwood. And Tahlia only had one friend from her home pack, anyway.

  But the real truth behind everything is that Tahlia’s unsure of mating with Drek. She understands she’s not mature by Lycan standards, and she’s grief-stricken over the murder of her guardians.

  She’s thought about it all a lot. Those are the facts.

  By Moon, she wants Drek. Tahlia’s body is so in tune with his, it’s like they’re meant to be. Lust brims from her pores in his presence.

  So why am I hesitating? She practically forced Drek to head to the Northwestern.

  Because I need time. Her keen instincts tell her to wait. For what, she’s not sure. But mating is forever, at least by the standards she was raised within. That’s a long commitment for someone who isn’t utterly convinced of the rightness.

  And recent events have shaken Tahlia to her very core.

  Tahlia thought her pack had problems, with all the squabbles and too many beta females to be run smoothly. But Drek’s pack is run even less well, considering she arrived at the Hoh and was bludgeoned, brutalized, coerced, and disbelieved.

  Banishing her conflicted thoughts, Tahlia resigns that taking a frigid river bath is what she needs right now.

  Looking at the clear pure water, Tahlia decides if she had to wear clothes for modesty’s sake, she would rather die. The blow torch to her insides remains. Drek has seen her naked, and Neil will be too far away to see the details of her nudity.

  With a shrug, Tahlia disrobes. Shedding the last of her clothing, she slides into the river in a single, lung-freezing sweep of cold as the water flows over her bare skin.

  Her beast likes the sensation, and the water soothes the achy heat of her body all at once. Tahlia sighs in relief, swimming to the depth of where the level of the water skims her waist. She takes her waterproof toiletry sack from her waist, retracts the soap, zips up the pouch, and clips it at her belly once more.

  Tahlia takes her time, leisurely washing her parts and shampooing her waist-length hair. After rinsing up, she puts everything away, feeling a small shiver, finally chilled after all the time luxuriating.

  Feels good to have the constant unbearable warmth gone.

  Tahlia has traveled rough before, and bathing of any kind while keeping out of the range of human notice is always a challenge.

  Her head snaps up as she scents Drek, shattering her random thoughts, a tiny second chill traveling down her spine.

  There he is, standing on the bank that rises from the river’s shore to the thick backdrop of rich, emerald old-growth forest.

  Tahlia’s shoulders ease at the sight of Drek standing tall and strong. She gives a small wave of greeting, feeling a little guilty about all her uncertainty and the fact that she’s flaunting her nudity. No matter how her internal temperature is, being more circumspect with her nakedness might have been better.

  Oh well, sometimes a female just needs to be free of convention. Moon knows, her life has been ruled by that standard since her birth.

  Drek’s a good male. Sexy, confident, and patient, though very Alpha. Tahlia gives a deep sigh. She should just mate him and not worry about it.

  She squints, sighting something behind him. Even at three hundred feet out, she can make who it is, and the situation seizes her.

  Tahlia’s gaze narrows further. The breeze shifts, and suddenly, she scents males.

  Moon, I’m naked.

  Her small rebellion seems foolish now. Without hesitating, Tahlia takes two huge strides, lunges into the water with a smooth dive, and crosses the river to where her clothes lie and Drek waits.

  Does he know Neil is creeping up behind him? Will he be a threat?

  Tahlia can’t imagine he wouldn’t be.

  This is not the time to be in her head, worrying about why Were have suddenly shown up.

  The prince of the Lanarre will take that in hand.

  But when she crashes into a Drek, who has assumed his wolfen form, and the depth of Neil’s treachery is revealed, Tahlia’s spirit plummets.

  When her promised mate tells her to run, she does, knowing in her heart Drek will die and there’s a good chance she will, as well.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Julia

  J ulia’s thoughts are plagued by One. How are her people doing? Worse, she must tell those who remain about Victor. That Praile’s master somehow confiscated his body.

  And that whatever was Victor then became Dark Master.

  Scott takes her hand, the two of them the meat in a sandwich of Combatants, though they aren’t currently in that form.

  But at a moment’s notice, if Julia was threatened, they would be.

  Guilt wrack’s Julia. She fully understands that Dark Master came because of her. He took Victor, a loyal guy who can’t be replaced.

  She also feels guilty because the spore is gone, and Julia’s fiercely glad. No matter what the price, Julia wants to live. It’s not a complicated feeling. It’s a basic instinct.

  She’s begun to see what it is to have a purpose in her life. Hell, when she and Jason eloped, her direction was aimless. Of course, she was eighteen.

  Then there’d been the supposed murder of her new husband. Then there was William. Her mind automatically shuts down the tether that binds her to Scott.

  He notices, slowing his gait. He turns her to look at him. “Why are you shutting me out?”

  Julia can’t meet his eyes.

  She pulls her hand from his and covers her eyes.

  He takes her hands away from her face. “Nope, fuck this, Julia—we’ve come too far for you to beat the hell out of yourself with remorse or whatever that shit is that’s eating at you and also circling the edges of my brain.”

  Finally, Julia allows herself to look into his dark gaze. “Whenever something great happens to me—I get saved—first there’s happiness, then bad things happen, and someone dies.” Her voice dips to a whisper. “Or a lot of someones.”

  Scott cups her chin, and the witnesses of the Combatant melt away. Just their meld remains. Julia doesn’t hear the birdsong or the wind tickling the leaves as they vacate their branches, early autumn kissing their brief life away to make way for winter.

  It’s just her… and Scott.

  “Victor would have given his life for you, Julia.”

  She nods. “I know. It’s just he didn’t choose, did he? That horrible thing…” She shudders, remembering Hades. In fact, Julia doesn’t think she’ll ever forget that place. “It stole Victor, Scott. And you know what I wonder, after all the people I’ve killed because they chose to protect me?” Julia walks a few yards away from Scott’s side, continuing, “I wonder if Victor even died before that gross creature took over his body.”

  She senses Scott’s touch before the soft weight of his hands land on her shoulders.

  Tears don’t come. Julia’s dry to the bone. She’s cried a lot because of the responsibility she feels, and though the sadness hovers, she feels locked down, imprisoned by unrequited grief.

  Scott slides his arms around her body from behind, warming her back, her insides, and her soul.

  His words vibrate through her skull as he speaks. “There is no one in the history of our universe that has ever been in a position of power, who didn’t lose peop
le they loved—who loved them enough to die for them.”

  Scott doesn’t tack on the words: Me included. But they remain between them, awkwardly unsaid.

  Lachlan quietly interrupts them with, “Let us go.”

  Julia wakes up to their surroundings as night breathes darkness all around them. Twilight fades as she watches.

  Straightening, Julia shakes the cobwebs of death memories from the front of her brain. “How much longer?”

  Lachlan’s features have arranged themselves into a faraway disconnect as he looks toward the horizon where the sun sinks like a seared ball of fire.

  Julia shoots Scott a puzzled look.

  He shakes his head slightly.

  Turning to Lachlan, Scott asks, “How long do you have before going batshit crazy because you’re not in Faery?”

  Lachlan turns, blinking as though waking up from a stupor.

  Maybe he is, Julia thinks.

  “A fortnight, maybe less.”

  Julia frowns. “I think I’ll need English, Lachlan.”

  The silver ring around his brilliant white eyes appear to reflect back at her like sculpted mercury circles. “That is English, my Blooded Queen—however old.” Melancholy owns his features for a moment, then his expression smooths. “Two weeks or less,” he repeats for her benefit.

  “That’s not very long.”

  Scott nods. “It’s four to five days of trekking.”

  Julia laughs. “If I never hiked again, it would be too soon.”

  Scott smirks. “And to think you used to be an avid runner.”

  Julia rolls her eyes. “I stay in shape running from one disaster to another, I think.”

  The sting of her words strikes Scott, and though he appears unchanged on the outside, his sensitive streak withers from her innocent comment.

  “Hey,” she says softly, drawing him nearer, and he comes willingly enough. Rising on tiptoe, Julia speaks in his ear, when she can so easily speak to his mind, “You keep saving me during all the disasters, so you’re exempt.”

  Lowering to her flat feet, she grins up at him, and Scott kisses the tip of her nose.

  She feels through their meld that he would like to kiss much more than that, and she feels a smirk form. Nice.

  Scott shrugs. Can’t help how I feel. His mental reply slides smoothly through her mind.

  Me either, she shoots back, and they turn, resuming the journey.

  Butterflies erupt in Julia’s stomach as she thinks about telling everyone, but Scott soothes her with this emotion of happiness.

  The spore is gone. Dark Master is no more.

  They can begin to replenish their ranks.

  Julia can’t help but think of how she would like to do that. A subtle flush of heat surfaces on her cheeks.

  Scott squeezes her hand briefly, totally getting what she’s thinking about.

  He’ll be on board to make it happen.

  Julia can’t help but feel hopeful. She wants to have his baby. A singer.

  Their little angel.

  Cyn

  Cyn flops down against the uncomfortable settee thing that still sits in the living room. It’s pretty much the only piece of furniture in the big mansion’s parlor that survived Tony Laurent.

  Dickhead.

  Delicate and ornately carved legs and armrests curve beautifully to hold two people.

  Its deep walnut stain, old-fashioned presence, and overly floral upholstery goes perfectly with the house.

  It makes Cyn’s ass hurt.

  Shifting her weight to her left bony butt cheek, she says, “Julia, I can’t believe that. I mean…” Cyn blows a hair off the bridge of her nose. “I do believe you.”

  “It’s just so unbelievable,” Julia admits, gnawing lightly on her bottom lip.

  Julia’s a sight for sore eyes. It’d been a tough week or two since Scott and Julia left for Faery.

  Cyn’s kind of new, and she’s now Were and Singer. It’s a mess, one she’s not really crazy about.

  But she and Jules are still solid, and that makes her crazy-ass new life kind of bearable.

  Cyn finds she misses Adi too. Now there was an authentic chick. In a way, she was responsible for helping those two when she healed Slash after those fucktards from that wandering pack got a hold of them and gang beat Slash.

  What a wonderful world we live in.

  “Now what?”

  Julia leans back, mirroring Cyn’s position perfectly. “I have to tell everyone Victor died.”

  “I hear you being guilty, Jules.” Cyn rolls her eyes. Julia was always kind of Pollyanna. She’s better than before all this trumped-up shit began, but God…

  “Victor was… he was special and important and…”

  “Listen, I’m sure Scott went over this with you, but really? Victor got caught in the supe crossfire. He was important and was in the wrong place at the absolute wrong time. Period. It’s nobody’s fault. Fire Master would have taken whoever was around. He wasn’t a picky dickhead, it sounds like.”

  Laughter bubbles up from Julia then escapes. She tries to cover her mouth, but it keeps coming.

  Cyn frowns. “What? I didn’t think anything I said was funny. Gah.”

  When Julia can finally calm down, she says, “It was Dark Master, not Fire Master.”

  Her eyes sparkle, and that’s worth a joke or two, from Cyn’s perspective. “Whatevers. He obviously wasn’t master of much, since you dusted his ass.”

  “I don’t know that I did ʻdust his ass.ʼ” Julia barks out another short laugh, forming little finger air quotes then letting her hands drop.

  “What if there’s more of the fire yahoos steaming around?” Cyn asks.

  Julia smiles. “I bet hell will carry on and conjure up more like those two, Praile and DM.”

  “DM?” Cyn snorts. Nice. She points at Jules. “Now that’s what I’m talking about.”

  Julia leans her head back, letting it rest on the high-backed chair. “I’m so glad that damn spore is gone.”

  Cyn snorts. “Shit, you and me both.”

  Silence swells between them. “You got to be glad that’s not a part of the equation anymore, Jules. Now you can just rule and be all queenified. And maybe get knocked up?”

  Julia’s head rises, and she meets Cyn’s green eyes head on. “You know, I just kinda told Scott I want to try.”

  “There is no try, only do.” Cyn winks.

  Julia’s fair complexion comes to life, bright pink spreading across her high cheekbones.

  “Yeah,” she agrees softly.

  “What are you two whispering about?”

  Truman is behind her, and Cyn tries to clamp down on her emotions. Because he’s a Red, and he’ll scent things she would rather he not know about.

  Like how she wants to jump his bones.

  And how that probably won’t happen because he was fifty in human years, and she’s hardly twenty-two. But the guy looks like he’s late twenties now, so shoot her for trying to remind herself all the time that he’s actually fifty in life experience.

  Julia straightens. “Um…” She pauses for so long, Cyn leaves her thoughts and stares at Julia. “I’m trying to work up the courage to say something to my people.”

  Truman shrugs, leaning against the doorframe as Cyn sneaks a look at him. “All you need to do is tell the truth. I mean, this crazy bunch of facts are too wild to be made up. When I was hunting for you guys as a human cop, I couldn’t have imagined anything that was going on in this world. So the stuff that is actually happening…” He chuckles. “They’ll buy it.”

  “It’s not about them believing. It’s my part in it.”

  Truman pushes away from the large passthrough and walks to Julia. “I think you’re a great leader who’s been tossed into the strangest vat of shit anyone could be and still think straight.”

  Cyn laughs, and Truman turns, giving her a nod over his shoulder.

  And Cyn spends an embarrassing amount of time roving his form like a perv. But wh
at can she say? His shoulders are broad, he’s way taller than her five-foot-eight frame, and he’s gruff, tender, bold, and outspoken.

  Truman has all the cool junk a guy can have and none of that game-playing bullshit younger guys have.

  And she’ll give the supes this: they don’t play games. In fact, they’re deadly serious. Thing is, she, Truman, and Julia are from the human world originally and not quite up to speed on how the social order of the supernatural world operates.

  Even a little bit.

  Some of the Were have shown interest in Cyn, but she’s thinking like a woman more than a female. She also has enough Singer blood that her talent has been revealed—she can heal people.

  Hope there aren’t any more genetic surprises waiting to pop up at the worst times. Story of my life.

  Cyn’s not shy. Far from it. But she’s not into throwing herself at Truman. Cyn swears he was into her, but after the healing thing with Slash a few weeks ago, he’s backed off and been nothing but civil to her. Not mean, but… distant.

  Cyn’s not sure what to do.

  Maybe it’s because she looks like shit. There’s been no way to get make up around here, and her hair has roots down to her chin now. Fuck.

  She’s worrying about shit like this because, apparently, the really important stuff is not interesting.

  Cyn looks down at her hands as Truman and Julia talk quietly.

  Maybe she should just get out of here. Julia’s okay now, and Cyn’s more Were than Singer.

  That’s been made clear. The Singer males who remain don’t seem real excited by a chick who changes into an animal once a month.

  Jerks. It’s not that big of a thing. Really. Well…maybe it is.

  Pfft. Okay, it’s kinda a thing. But Cyn can’t be with a human guy. It’s been explained in great detail. She’ll live centuries now.

  She has to be with a Singer or a Wereguy.

  Cyn’s been staring at her feet so long that she doesn’t notice the pair of Converse sneakers nearly touching hers right away.

  Big ones.

  Slowly, her chin rises, and she straightens her sore butt on the uncomfortable seating, meeting Truman’s hazel eyes.