Double The Alpha: A Paranormal Menage Romance

by Amira Rain

  I spent the rest of the day alone in my apartment, cleaning, and then later, cooking dinner and cleaning up from that. A personal chef and a maid had been offered to me, but I’d politely declined. Having people wait on me hand-and-foot just wasn’t my style. And besides, I honestly enjoyed cooking. Housework a little less so, but I didn’t hate it.

  When Jackson hadn’t called me to check in by ten or so, like I’d thought he possibly might, I went to bed, surprisingly disappointed. Grouchy, even. And maybe it was this bad mood that carried over into my sleep, because around midnight, I was awoken from some vague-yet-terrifying nightmare by the feel of hands around my throat, squeezing.

  For a second or two, the sensation and feeling of pressure felt incredibly real. I was sure someone had broken into my apartment and was trying to strangle me. But as I clutched at my throat, flying up to a sitting position, I realized that no one was even touching me. After flicking on the bedside table lamp, gasping for breath, I saw that no one was even in the room. It had just been a bad dream. As my heart rate slowly began returning to normal, I realized that the dream had, at one point, been my reality.

  Breathless and slightly nauseated, I flicked off the light and got back under the silk-lined spring blanket covering my bed, recalling a time when Drago, or Dan, as he’d been back then, had choked me. He’d wrapped both hands around my throat and had squeezed with steady, unrelenting pressure, just how I’d felt in my dream. He’d only finally released me when I’d begun seeing stars, on the verge of blacking out.

  I couldn’t fall back asleep. Eventually, after maybe twenty minutes, I got out of bed, grabbed my phone, and padded out to the living room to have a seat on the French blue couch. I sat in the dim light of a single lamp for a while, debating whether or not to call Jackson. I wanted to talk to him, but I wasn’t exactly sure what to say. Calling him just to say I had a nightmare seemed a bit childish.

  When the grandfather clock in the wider area of the living room, the part of it I’d come to think of as the “formal living room,” chimed half past the hour, I pulled up Jackson’s and my text thread, wondering if I should just text him. But ultimately, after a few moments looking at the text I’d sent earlier that day, still in disbelief that I’d accidentally sent it, I decided not to. I couldn’t see what the point would be to alert him via text that I’d had a nightmare.

  Now, on the couch, I was finally getting sleepy again, yawning uncontrollably, and I figured I’d just try to go back to sleep just where I was. Pulling a throw blanket over myself, I let my phone slip from my fingers and fall to an area rug on the marble floor, and soon I was fast asleep, having no idea the situation I would be in when I did awaken.

  *

  After what felt like only a few minutes of sleep, I awoke to the sound of Jackson’s voice coming from somewhere nearby.

  “Are you still awake, Vivian? I got down here as fast as I could.”

  I opened my eyes, seeing that it wasn’t anywhere near morning yet. The living room was still dark, lit only by the single small lamp. With his dark hair tousled, as if he’d been recently sleeping himself, Jackson was sitting on the floor next to the couch, running a hand over my hair.

  “I wanted to watch you sleep a while longer, because you look so unbelievably gorgeous when you’re asleep—as you do when you’re awake—but I also didn’t want to be a creep. Thought I’d better check to see if you were just dozing, or if you’d somehow managed to become knocked out cold in the five minutes since you texted.”

  Thoroughly mystified, I slowly sat up, willing my brain to work. “What are you talking about? I didn’t text you five minutes ago.”

  “Well, you had to have.”

  “But I didn’t. I was thinking about it, but... I didn’t.”

  “But you did, though. Unless you have a ghost in your phone.”

  “Well, what did the text say?”

  With a deepening frown, Jackson pulled his phone from his pocket, unlocked the screen, and showed me the text I’d supposedly sent. It said I need to touch you, same as the text I’d sent him that morning. But the time stamp on this text was twelve thirty-one am.

  I shook my head, miles beyond confused. “No. This text was from this morning.”

  “Well, the time stamp doesn’t lie. You sent me the same thing again. And if I didn’t know you better, I might think you were trying to toy with me. If I didn’t know you better, considering that you know how physically near-irresistible I find you, I might think you were just trying to tease me.”

  His expression was one of such genuine disappointment and something that actually resembled real hurt that it struck me as almost comical for some reason, though I knew I was surely evil for thinking so. But I burst into laughter, nonetheless. I couldn’t help it.

  Jackson’s disappointed, hurt expression became even more pronounced, but only for a second.

  Then he sighed, raking a hand through his thick, sleep-mussed hair, his expression turning to one of exasperation. “So, this was just another genuine false alarm, then?”

  I nodded, trying to get a handle on my laughter. “I’m so sorry, Jackson. I really am.”

  Despite my mirth, I really was.

  “I just came out here to sleep on the couch because I had a nightmare, and I was debating whether to call or text you just to talk, so I had our text thread open, but then I decided against it, and I let the phone slip through my fingers when I started to fall asleep again. All I can think of is that I must have hit ‘forward message’ or ‘resend’ when I was dropping the phone. It’s really a very sensitive touch screen.”

  Still looking exasperated, Jackson didn’t respond. He just raked a hand through his hair again.

  Feeling uncontrollable laughter bubbling up inside me once again and feeling terrible about it, I patted the spot next to me on the couch. “Here. Sit next to me. Please.”

  He did so, seemingly a bit reluctantly, grumbling. “Anyone else... Anyone else getting the commander-in-chief of this entire nation out of bed just for an accidental text—an accidental resend of an accidental text—anyone but you....”

  His words brought on a giggle fit from me, which he just suffered through, looking straight ahead, periodically heaving a sigh. Which only made me laugh harder. Which made me feel downright villainous, though at the same time, I still couldn’t stop myself. Though eventually, maybe after a solid minute, at least, I finally managed to rein it in. And Jackson finally turned his gaze to my face.

  “You’re an exceptionally naughty young woman, Vivian. You’re an extraordinarily naughty young woman.”

  I fought hard not to giggle again. “Am I?”

  “Without a doubt. Now lay your head down on my shoulder like a good naughty young woman, before I have you court martialed.”

  Snuggling up against him, I did as I was told, willing not one more single peep of laughter to come out of my mouth, even though an additional peep or two definitely wanted to. “First, ‘good naughty young woman’ is a little oxymoronic, don’t you think? And second, you can’t have me court martialed, because I’m not a member of your military.”

  “I’ll find some loophole. I’ll find some way to make sure you’re cruelly punished for your very naughty giggling.”

  The gentle stroking of his hand over my hair said otherwise. Amused again, though not to the point of having to fight laughter, I twined my fingers with the fingers of his free hand, and we both fell silent.

  Under the soothing, rhythmic caresses of Jackson’s hand, I’d almost fallen asleep again a minute or so later when he spoke again, voice low.

  “I have to admit, this has been a bit of a disappointing day for me in the romance department.”

  I didn’t respond right away, thinking. “So, you consider physical intimacy between us to be the ‘romance’ department? Not just the ‘business’ department, or the ‘pure lust’ department?”

  “Yes. Of course. And maybe I didn’t think this would be the case at first, but, yes. I consider
all physical intimacy between us to definitely fall under the ‘romance’ department.”

  I liked how he’d responded so quickly, as if he hadn’t even had to think about his response.

  “Although, if I’m being completely honest, at the same time, I sometimes I feel as if I could very well be driven nearly insane by lust for you.”

  I liked this response, too.

  “Which has made your text shenanigans of today all the more frustrating, to be completely honest again.”

  “Shenanigans. I like that word. Please remember that in the future and say it more.”

  “The young woman thought her text shenanigans were all fun and games until she suddenly found herself facing a court martial.”

  I laughed for what felt like the hundredth time, but this time, not uncontrollably; his time, it was more like a very pronounced ha ha. “Funny. Hysterical, actually, Jackson.”

  We both fell silent once more, and he continued stroking my hair, caressing me into drowsiness. When he spoke again a short while later, it was in a voice just as gentle and soothing as his hand, and a voice without even the faintest trace of levity.

  “Tell me what you had a nightmare about.”

  I didn’t answer right away. I’d forgotten about my nightmare, and now I wished I could forget it forever.

  “It was Drago, or Dan, or whoever he was back then. I had a hazy sort of nightmare that I think was about him, and when I came out of it, I felt like someone was strangling me with their hands around my throat. And then I remembered that Dan used to do that. He choked me once until I almost blacked out. I thought I was going to die.”

  With my head on his shoulder, I could hear Jackson’s breathing accelerate noticeably. And as tightly tucked into the side of his body as I was, I could feel his entire form stiffening, as if every muscle from his head to his toes had tensed. He’d also stopped smoothing my hair.

  But he didn’t say anything, though. And whatever emotion had seemed to grip him, he recovered quickly from it, his body relaxing. Then, surprising me, he just pulled me onto his lap in one quick, smooth motion, displaying his shifter strength, and held me tightly against his chest, face buried in my hair.

  After several moments, he planted a line of slow, tender kisses across the side of my face, then resumed very slowly stroking my hair, planting a few more kisses on the top of my head while he did so. Growing drowsier, I wrapped an arm around his shoulders, reveling in the feel of his muscles beneath the thin fabric of his white t-shirt. And within a minute or two, I was fast asleep.

  When I awoke however long later, I was tucked under the covers in bed, and sunlight was streaming in through my bedroom windows. I knew Jackson must have carried me to bed at some point during the night, but to my disappointment, he wasn’t with me anymore. I realized I desperately wanted him to be.

  After I’d showered and dressed, it was a quarter after ten, and I left my apartment, intending to go down to a cafe on one of the lower levels of The Arch, pick up some brunch, and then bring it to Celeste’s and see if she was ready for any company. I didn’t get very far out of my apartment, however. I actually only made it to the door mat out in the hall.

  I’d stopped there because I’d noticed the corner of a large white envelope sticking out from under the mat. I picked it up and read a note written on the back, which read: Sleeping beauty, Considering how extraordinarily naughty you were last night with your giggling, I’m not quite sure if you deserve these, but I wanted to give them to you anyway. Affectionately, though still actively planning your court martial, Jackson.

  I traced a finger over a line of his bold, heavy-stroked, masculine scrawl with an ache in my chest. Somehow, I just knew that whatever was in the envelope was going to break my heart, yet somehow fix it all at the same time, and I was right.

  CHAPTER 13

  I pulled from Jackson’s envelope five Detroit Tigers baseball cards commemorating players from the 1984 team, the year the Tigers had won the World Series. I hadn’t been born then, but my grandpa told me how he’d been in the stands during the final game, and how he cried like a baby when they won. And then he’d cried like a baby during the retelling of how he’d cried like a baby, when they’d won.

  Looking at the cards, which were all yellowed and lightly creased in the middle, though in otherwise excellent condition for being hundreds of years old, I wasn’t crying like a baby, though I had a feeling I was well on my way, sniffling tears into my nose to stop them from falling on the precious pieces of cardboard in my hand. However, I wasn’t sniffling just because of the cards themselves and the feeling of being home that they made swell in my chest. I was sniffling because of the thought behind the gift of the cards, and because of the person who’d given them to me.

  Like when he’d given me the Tigers cap, this gesture showed just how much he cared about me as a person with a previous life and a history, not just as a potential baby-making machine. I’d already known he felt this way, of course, but the token of caring once again drove the point home. And also once again, made me feel horribly conflicted as to whether I should stay in D.C. or go back to the place that I loved so much it felt like a family member, not to mention that my actual family members would also be living in it with me.

  For about the millionth time, I contemplated the fact that if I did go back to Detroit, I wouldn’t even remember Jackson to miss him. This thought, at this particular moment, turned my sniffling fit into full-blown crying, tears streaming down my cheeks.

  Before my shirt became too wet, though, I slid the cards back in the envelope, pulled out my phone, and called Jackson, careful not to go into our text thread, afraid of sending him the same racy message for a third time.

  He answered on the first ring, sounding alarmed. “Is all okay?”

  I sniffled, wiping my eyes with the back of my hand. “Yes. Everything’s fine. I just called to say thank you for the cards. They brought back some very special memories for me.”

  “Well, I’m glad to hear that. And, of course, you’re very welcome. I honestly debated even giving them to you right now, because I was afraid, and still kind of am, I suppose, of them making you want to go back home even more, affecting the decision you have to make. But then I figured that maybe that wouldn’t have to be the case.

  I wanted to give them to you to show you that, although I know you’ll always miss your home if you choose to stay in D.C., you can always keep a few parts of your home with you. There are plenty more Detroit antiques and artifacts where the cap and cards came from. And if you stay, Vivian, I promise that I’ll buy you any and all—”

  Jackson’s words had cut off so abruptly that I wondered if the call had dropped. I was just opening my mouth to ask if he was still there when a deep sigh told me that he was.

  “I won’t finish my thought about that because I promised myself that I won’t try to sway your decision. At least not beyond trying to show you that you can still have a few pieces of your home here in D.C. I know your decision should be yours alone.”

  I knew it should be, too, but something about Jackson not trying to talk me into staying still bothered me, though that wasn’t even the exact right word. It wasn’t like I wanted him to try to get me to make the choice that he wanted to make. It wasn’t like I wanted him to try to talk me into it. But at the same time, I still wanted something more from him than just stepping back to allow me to make my choice, though I wasn’t sure what. I wasn’t even sure why I felt that way.

  Soon we ended the call because Jackson had to go. Drago Stone was still lurking around just outside the city, right on the border of Gorgolian territory, and his men were still causing trouble for Jackson’s many shifter patrolmen. Jackson himself was going out to assist them that day and try to get a feel for exactly what Drago was trying to do, by remaining so close to D.C.

  Jackson feared that now that Drago knew my whereabouts, he had ideas about trying to hurt me or abduct me. This concerned Jackson, obviously, as it did me as w
ell, though Jackson assured me he’d never let this happen. He did, however, made me promise to spend at least most of my time in The Arch and not out and about in the city. And I should head back to The Arch immediately if I heard the alarm sirens that sounded any time a large group of Drago’s men were moving to attack the city. This wasn’t a hard promise for me to make; I had no intention of putting myself in a situation where I could be kidnapped. Seeing Drago/Dan in my dreams was terrifying enough.

  After pocketing my phone, I took the baseball cards out of the envelope again, and began looking them over once more. Soon, scanning the stats on the back, I was so deep in memory and thought that I jumped a mile when the doors of the private elevator across from my apartment door slid open with a loud ding. Seeming just as surprised to see me standing on my front mat, out stepped Celeste, gracefully gliding on the balls of her feet, like a dancer, how she always walked, looking none worse for the wear from her horrifying ordeal with Drago.

  Seemingly having read my mind, she was holding a large paper bag printed with the name of the cafe where I’d planned to get brunch for us.

  Giving me just a tiny smile for a greeting, she glided across the hall to stand beside me, then looked at the cards I still held. “Oh, baseball. I remember reading about that game in one of my grandma’s antique books.”

  I looked from the cards to her face, horrified. “You mean... baseball doesn’t even exist anymore?”

  I couldn’t believe I’d never thought to ask earlier.

  Celeste winced, inhaling a quiet little breath through gritted teeth. “No. It doesn’t. Sorry. From what I know of its history, I think that was pretty much just an American thing, and it kind of ceased to exist after that nation fell apart. We do have something similar, though, although it’s not exactly the same. It’s called jugball, and there are several pro jugball teams around the nation, one here in the capitol. The men who play on the teams are non-shifter human men, and it’s other human men who are the biggest, most rabid fans of it. I don’t know if most shifters really appreciate it quite as much.”