Double The Alpha: A Paranormal Menage Romance

by Amira Rain

  Heaving a sigh, Jackson now got up from the couch as well. “We can work through this. We can talk more when we’ve both had a chance to cool down a little. And then—”

  “Oh, I’ve been ‘cool’ enough for a thousand lifetimes. I was cryogenically frozen, remember? And as far as talking, I’m done. I just want to go back home. And in fact, I’m demanding that you lend me a car so that I can go back home to Detroit right now. Everyone I ever knew there may be dead and gone, but at least I’ll be back in my own city.”

  Surprising me, Jackson’s expression of complete exasperation changed to one of clear pity, and he spoke in a low, soft voice.

  “Detroit doesn’t even exist anymore; it hasn’t for hundreds of years. The global nuclear blast killed most of the inhabitants, and the few hundred survivors went to different cities. Detroit is nothing but a vast, empty swath of rusted metal and powdered concrete today.”

  For the second time in as many minutes, I felt an ache in my chest. Even while I simultaneously felt some wild urge to deny or disprove what Jackson had said.

  “Well... Well, if that’s true that Detroit doesn’t even exist anymore, then where do people get cars now? One of the nurses today told me that still exist; they’re just a bit different. And Irene told me that, basically, only North America survived the nuclear blast, so I know all the cars nowadays can’t be made in Japan or Europe.”

  “All the nation’s cars are manufactured in Chicago now, which is a small city of about seventy thousand people.”

  The Motor City was dead. I couldn’t believe it; I didn’t want to. But at the same time, Jackson’s sincere expression of sympathy wouldn’t let me deny it any longer. And now I felt tears prickling behind my eyelids. It was all just too much. Knowing that I’d been frozen in a cryogenic tank for hundreds of years; having amnesia; knowing that I’d been bought; and now, finding out that the place I’d once called home didn’t even exist anymore.

  I wanted to tell Jackson to just please leave, but with him standing in front of me with his broad, muscular chest at about my eye level, I realized I was struggling with wanting to tell him to do something else. I was struggling with wanting to tell him to hold me. For some reason, I wanted to let my tears flow freely with my face against his chest, and with the strength of his strong arms wrapped around me.

  However, almost the instant I realized I wanted to do this, I dismissed the idea. He’d purchased me. I hadn’t forgotten about that. I hadn’t forgotten that I was basically just a rent-a-womb to him.

  And so, blinking back my tears, I folded my arms across my chest for the second time during our visit. “I think I’d like you to leave. I may not know much about myself right now, Jackson, but I know that I don’t like being treated like a piece of property. I don’t like being treated like an object. I will not be your womb-for-hire. Or purchase. Or whatever. So please just go.”

  Searching my face, he seemed to be conflicted about what to do, so I repeated myself, asking him to please just go, trying to keep my voice as even and steady and clear, no easy feat considering I had a giant lump in my throat. And after searching my face a second or two longer, he did as I’d asked. So I couldn’t understand why, after he’d shut the door behind him, I burst into tears and covered my face with my hands, feeling as if my heart were breaking.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  A week had passed. I’d gotten settled into my new, luxurious apartment, and I’d become immediate, fast friends with Celeste. From the very first time I’d met her, I’d felt like I could tell her anything. I’d felt like we’d known each other for years. She hadn’t been exactly the person I’d been expecting, however.

  I had no idea why, but I’d been expecting her to be a statuesque, physically powerful woman, and she was anything but. With short, though slender, limbs, she stood not more than an inch or two above five feet tall and was probably a hundred and ten pounds soaking wet. Everything about her physicality was dainty, and even the way she moved was dainty and graceful, kind of floating on the balls of her feet, like a dancer, her fine, pale blonde hair fluttering behind her.

  I was glad to have a good friend, and she seemed equally as glad. I’d been able to see that although most of the other young women who lived in The Arch weren’t downright unfriendly to her, they were a bit standoffish in a certain way. Maybe because like Irene had said, Celeste was a young woman with a bold personality, and some ideas that didn’t exactly seem to be the norm in the United Free States.

  Which was something that struck me as a bit funny. Like Liz, one of the hospital nurses, had told me, much about fashion, music, and food had remained the same over the years. However, after dragons had taken over the world, societal gender roles had seemed to tumble back to about the nineteen-fifties of my “own” time and stay there. Celeste seemed to think that this was a natural result of dragons obviously being far physically stronger than humans in general, especially females.

  And so, people had kind of fallen into step with thinking, either consciously or unconsciously, that physical strength alone was the determinant when it came to who should defend the nation and “run” things. Even the tens of thousands of human men in DC had seemed content over the years, to let the city’s dragons fight the Gorgolians alone.

  “And I seem to be the only damn one standing up and saying, ‘Hey, when the Gorgolians attack, it shouldn’t be only our own dragons fighting them,” Celeste had told me one afternoon.

  “I mean... Sometimes some of the human men in the city have accompanied our dragons out of the city to try to fight the Gorgolians with arrows and bullets, but really, only a very small number of human men have ever even done this. And zero women have. And that’s wrong, Vivian, it’s so, so, so wrong.”

  I kind of tended to agree. Especially since there were no laws or anything saying that women couldn’t help in battle; in fact, Confederation of Free States laws stated that barring criminal activity, all women were free to do whatever they wanted to do.

  When a commander-in-chief died without an heir and a new commander had to be elected, women were fully free to vote. Additionally, women were also fully free to apply for and hold any job in the land, whether private sector or governmental. Women could also live anywhere they liked, own whatever property they wanted to own, attend any of the nation’s three universities, and generally “run their own shows,” as Celeste put it. One specific part of the CFS constitution even stated that despite the armed forces being called the UFS, for United Federation of Shifters, all citizens of the CFS, whether human or shifter, male or female, were free to “defend the nation in whatever way he or she feels compelled to do.”

  The bottom line was that women were free to help defend the nation from Gorgolians; they just didn’t seem to have any interest in doing so. They all seemed perfectly content to simply be protected and taken care of by the men.

  As a relative of Irene, who was a longtime and treasured employee of the UFS at the UFS hospital, Celeste had been given special permission to live in The Arch, which was normally only reserved for UFS fighters, their families, and other top-level UFS employees. She lived only ten floors below me, and during that week, we’d spent nearly all our time at each other’s apartments. We hadn’t just stayed in, though. We’d also went “out on the town” in DC a few times, zipping around in Celeste’s shiny red sports car, which sped along hovering several feet off the road.

  Except for being packed with skyscrapers, DC really wasn’t too much like New York City had been. The skyline was obviously different, as was the general culture, for the most part. However, one part of the city still retained a strong New York City feel. On a street still called Broadway, several theaters still showcased musicals and plays every night.

  Immediately after meeting, Celeste and I took in three musicals in as many days. After each one, we’d had dinner outside on the patio of what had become my favorite restaurant. It was late April, and the spring air was warm, fresh, and clean, even in the most densely populated
part of the city. The hover-cars in DC didn’t produce a high level of emissions.

  Spending time with Celeste, I felt somewhat like a teenager again, not that I really remembered what my teenage years had been like. I’d been able to recall a few more details about my life, such as my mother’s name and face, and a couple of other things about her. I’d also recalled that tragically, she’d been killed in the nuclear blast.

  But that was about it. I still couldn’t remember who my friends were, if I’d had a boyfriend, or what my job had been. Dr. Moore said that I had a particularly bad case of amnesia, and that unfortunately, I might be one of the rare frozen women who never recovered all her memories.

  During that week, I hadn’t spoken to Jackson once. And not just because I really had nothing more to say to him, but because he’d been gone nearly the entire time, fighting off Gorgolian attacks just north of the city. Though, despite his absence, I found that I still thought about him a lot, sometimes what even felt like as often as every minute. I thought about his face, his body, and his deep, masculine voice. I also thought about the way he’d made me feel when I’d been near him, all full of butterflies and kind of nervous, but not in a way I disliked, exactly.

  Over lunch at a cafe one day, Celeste told me that during the course of his several years as commander-in-chief, he’d dated a few women, one or two even kind of seriously, but that he hadn’t dated at all over the previous year. “Which would be just about the time that he took his little trip in the time machine and picked you to bear his child out of all the other women.”

  I snorted. “And I should feel flattered about that? Wow, Jackson stopped dating once he spotted his perfect baby-making machine and snapped her right up for a few bars of gold. How unbelievably romantic. But the next time I see him, I’m still telling him the same thing I told him last time. ‘Sorry, but my womb isn’t for rent or sale.’ When I have a baby, it’s going to be with a man I actually love, and who loves me. So, Jackson’s just going to have to get a different frozen woman to be his baby-carrier.”

  “But all the other frozen women have already been mated up, and some of them are even pregnant already.”

  I snorted again, dropping an uneaten French fry on my plate. “Well, I guess that’s just tough. Because I just refuse to be a womb-for-hire. Period.”

  With her slender arms folded loosely across her chest, Celeste leaned back in her chair. “Which as a woman all about female rights, autonomy, and empowerment, I definitely understand. But on another level as a woman...” She trailed off, exhaling in a low, quiet whistle. “Vivian, you do understand that spending a few nights trying to become impregnated by Commander Wallace is many, many a woman’s fantasy, right?

  I mean, I’m kind of interested in my own dragon shifter right now, but even I wouldn’t be able to pass up a few nights of what I’m pretty certain would be total erotic bliss with Commander Wallace. I mean... God, just look at him.

  Anyway, now that I’m really thinking about it, who says that giving him a baby wouldn’t be an expression of female empowerment? Commander Jackson may get an heir out of the deal, but you’d be getting a few important things yourself, starting with a luxury apartment to live in for the rest of your life. You’d basically be the ‘Queen’ of the nation, enjoying an elevated status above all other women, and who knows? Maybe you and Commander Wallace would even get officially married someday. Kids can bring people together like that, you know.”

  I shook my head. “I just don’t want it like that, though. What I want is love first, then marriage, and the—”

  “And then the baby in the baby carriage, right?”

  “Exactly. I don’t know if this thinking reflects who I was or what I wanted in my former life, but I know it’s what I want now. I definitely do not want any relationship with a man who started the whole thing off by literally purchasing me.”

  “But according to what you said he said, it seems like he kind of had to do that, right? Because he liked you. He thought you were brave. He wanted you to be the one he mated with. And by the way, didn’t you say that he also told you that you actually volunteered to be frozen? To possibly save humanity? And it seems like that has to be true, because it’s common knowledge that all the frozen women were volunteers. A lot of the rest of them even very clearly remember this.”

  Gazing at my plate, I picked at a few fries. “Well, I don’t remember exactly what I was thinking then, or why I apparently so bravely and fearlessly volunteered. All I know is that I don’t feel the same way now. And also now, me saving humanity by reproducing isn’t even really an issue, since all the other frozen women seem to be doing just fine with that.”

  “But Commander Wallace still needs an heir to take over his role as commander-in-chief when he’s gone. He either needs a boy to become a shifter and then actually take on the role himself, or a girl to grow up and have a son who will become commander, keeping the title in the family. I’ve heard insider-people talk about this before, and apparently, it’s very important to Commander Wallace to pass down the title of commander himself, through his own line, and not have the next one be chosen by special election. So, whether baby boy or girl, he still needs a child.”

  I shrugged, studying an ant crawling across the table, its tiny black body glinting in the sunshine. “Well, that’s his problem. The next time I see him, whenever that is, I’m going to tell him that my thinking hasn’t changed. I’m not going to sleep with him. I’m not going to give him a child. I’m not even—well, I’m barely even going to look at him the next time I see him.”

  That turned out to be a little easier said than done. The ninth day after I’d been released from the hospital, Jackson and his men returned home, after having killed the small group of Gorgolians who’d been causing problems in the north. That afternoon, while I was home alone, relaxing after a long run around the base of The Arch with Celeste, he sent me a text, asking if he could stop by my apartment later, because he had something to give me. If what you want to give me when you stop by is a baby, no thank you, I texted back.

  After a minute or two, he responded. Ha ha, but that’s not what I want to stop by to give you. I want to give you something I picked up at an antique store on my way home. Not wanting to see him, but then wanting to see him badly for some reason at the same time, I hesitated in sending a response. But ultimately, curiosity about what kind of an antique he’d picked up for me won out. I texted back that he could stop by whenever he liked.

  When he liked turned out to be near-immediately. Not five minutes after I’d sent the final text of our conversation, he knocked on my door, and I let him in, feeling a bit flustered and breathless, though I wasn’t even sure why. My long hair was still wet from a shower I’d taken after my run, and irritated, I brushed away a few wet strands that were clinging to my cheeks.

  “We can sit in the living room if you want.”

  I couldn’t quite make eye contact with him for some reason.

  He said sitting in the living room would be fine, and we both went over and had a seat on the French blue couch. Increasing my strange breathlessness, he sat down next to me, close enough that I could pick up just a hint of his scent, which was earthy and woodsy, with faint notes of leather and soap. It was absolutely intoxicating, even just the hint of it that I was able to smell, and I instantly thought of how heavenly it might be to breathe in his scent with my face against his bare chest. Needless to say, this thought didn’t help my breathlessness and feeling of being a little rattled at all, so I tried to push it from my mind by focusing on a twine-handled paper bag Jackson held.

  “You said you brought me something?”

  With his full, maddeningly delectable-looking lips curving upward a bit, he nodded. “Yes. And I really hope you like it.”

  He reached in the paper bag and pulled something out, and that something made me gasp, hands flying to the sides of my face.

  CHAPTER SIX

  I’d been kind of expecting Jackson to pull somet
hing like an antique gilded rattle or a filigreed silver baby spoon out of the bag. Something he could use to manipulate me. Something to try to get me thinking about how exciting it might be to have a baby, and get me on board with his plan. But, to my surprise, what he’d pulled out of the bag was an item that had nothing to do with babies at all. Unless the babies he wanted me to start thinking about were baby tigers.

  The item he’d pulled out of the bag was an old, faded, navy blue baseball cap. Though old really didn’t adequately describe it. Threadbare and with spots of blue that were really more like the color of dirty dishwater, it was clearly ancient. A small section of an embroidered letter, a Gothic capital D, on the front of the cap was missing, maybe eaten by moths. The D likely used to be white. Now it was a dusty shade of gray. But I didn’t care. I loved the cap. I loved it so much that when Jackson handed it to me, I took it from him and held it to my heart, briefly closing my eyes, suddenly kind of “seeing,” though maybe more like feeling, a few memories from my past. When I opened my eyes, they were filled with tears, and a spoke in a voice that held a little tremor.

  “This is—this is my home. This is part of my home. This is part of Detroit. I just remembered a few things: warm weather, Tiger Stadium, Comerica Park. I think there was an old man...” Kind of feeling something again, I paused for a second. “I think my grandfather used to take me to watch the Tigers play all the time when I was a kid. They were... they were beautiful, happy days, I think. Sunny.”

  Looking deeply into my eyes, Jackson smiled, and I smiled in return, sniffling.

  “Thank you for this.”

  He smiled a bit bigger. “You’re so welcome. When I heard that an antiques dealer had an authentic Tigers cap from three hundred years ago, before the disaster, I just knew it should be yours. He’d recently purchased it from a museum here in the city to sell to a different museum in Chicago, but fortunately, I got it first. And now, just seeing you with it, I’m so unbelievably happy that I did.”