Alpha Underground Trilogy

by Aimee Easterling

“Talon?” I asked, keeping my questions short and open-ended. The kid seemed more likely to spill relevant details if I didn’t lead him too closely.

  Sure enough, Crew’s eyes only flitted across his captors’ faces for a moment before he fell all over himself to tell me about a group of outpack males that met regularly at various bars around the region. He didn’t know anyone’s last name, and I wasn’t entirely confident that even the first names he spewed out were real. Still, the purpose of the group was as clear as it was chilling.

  “To pledge, you have to capture a halfie,” the kid told me earnestly. “They’re not really human,” he rushed on by way of explanation. “Just unnatural animals. Filth.”

  Despite having shed fur some minutes ago, Glen still growled in response to the kid’s words and his fingers tightened around Crew’s shoulders. I wasn’t terribly pleased with the boy’s language either, but this was an information-gathering session only. So I shook my head in subtle rebuke. “And what do you do with the halfies you catch?” I prodded.

  “I’m not sure.” A line formed between Crew’s eyebrows as if he hadn’t given the question much thought. I suspected our prisoner had been recently drawn into the group by the enticing camaraderie offered by a cluster of outpack males and hadn’t worried too much about the big picture as long as his social needs were met.

  But the big picture was exactly what I was trying to suss out. “What’s the organization called?” I demanded, not giving him time to fully catch his breath.

  “SSS,” Crew replied easily. “The Shifter Sanitation Society. We’re cleaning up the region....”

  And then Quill was pushing me to the side as a rifle shot cracked out, breaking the morning stillness. Glen dove atop Lia, protecting her body with his own even though I suspected that the shooter could as easily kill both as one.

  Silently, I berated myself for not being more prepared. There was nothing wolf teeth and human sword could do against a sniper hidden by the encircling fog. Suddenly, our location at the far edge of the campground seemed more hindrance than help.

  My muscles twitched, begging me to run for cover. But there was no point in moving. We’d present even larger targets if we straightened back up, and the thin metal of our car’s frame likely wouldn’t shield us from the bullet of a high-caliber rifle.

  Plus, there didn’t end up being any reason to flee after all. Because the sniper appeared to have gotten what he came for and then left as silently as he’d arrived. As we waited, muffling our harsh breathing against crossed arms, the birds once again began to sing and the campground’s usual woodland tranquility sprang back to life.

  Well, most of the campground resumed its normal life. Crew, on the other hand, had been shot square through the left side of his chest, the tiny entrance wound appearing inconsequential until I noticed the massive stain of blood soaking into the dirt beneath him. And when I pressed my fingers to the boy’s throat, I found no pulse.

  There was only one conclusion to be drawn. Someone hadn’t wanted Crew to spill his guts, so they’d chosen a much more final route to their preferred destination. They’d spilled the last of his life’s blood instead.

  Chapter 9

  “SUCH A WASTE,” GLEN murmured as he helped me heave Crew’s body onto the tent fly that was protecting the carpet beneath our car’s hatchback. I pursed my lips and nodded but didn’t say anything else. My beta understood that I was as torn up about the boy’s death as he was, but we also needed to make good on our escape before anyone else was shot.

  The only reason we hadn’t left already, in fact, was because Hunter was still out there. I hoped he was following my orders and patrolling the boundaries of the campground for lingering enemy shifters. But I feared the elusive uber-alpha had instead been sucked into the drama and was even now lying wounded on the forest floor.

  On the other hand, I could tell the trouble twins had a different notion entirely. They were convinced that the uber-alpha was the sniper.

  So when the wolf we were all waiting for stepped into the clearing, Ginger and Cinnamon started toward him on lupine feet with lips curled. They’d shifted again too soon and would almost certainly be no match for the stronger werewolf as a result, but the duo were always up for a good brawl. Plus, they were expert bluffers and were used to harvesting the expected results from a show of strength.

  To his credit, Hunter immediately abandoned the form in which he both felt more comfortable and harnessed greater offensive power, spreading his empty hands out to his sides in surrender as soon as he’d shifted. But the two-legger body language stopped there. Despite lacking canine sense organs, the uber-alpha raised his chin and sniffed the air like a dog as he entered our campsite. Then he blanched. “Who’s hurt?” he demanded, gaze flicking across my pack mates as if he were counting heads.

  If Hunter really is the sniper, he’s even better at dissembling than the trouble twins are, I thought. But all I said was: “Walk with me.”

  Behind my back, the siblings growled their annoyance. But I ignored them and grabbed the uber-alpha’s hand to pull him back in the direction from which he’d come.

  Hunter’s palm was warm and dry, albeit dirty from its recent contact with the earth. And, despite myself, I allowed my shoulder to drift closer to my companion’s, my stride lengthening to match his even as the uber-alpha’s steps slowed to make his pace more compatible with my shorter legs.

  We fit, whispered the wolf who I’d thought was completely comatose within my human body. Shh, I reprimanded her. But I couldn’t quite muster the energy to knock her all the way down. Good thing my animal half was too submissive to chafe against even a mild rebuke since I was nearly at the end of my rope.

  “Who?” Hunter asked again, and the sound of his voice sent a tremor of excitement sparking down my spine. We were far enough away from my pack now that no one would know what we said if we spoke softly, and for an instant I imagined asking Hunter about his past. Was I right in thinking that he felt the same protectiveness toward Lia that I’d heard in his voice when he spoke of Daisy Rambler? What aspect of his childhood or youth, I wondered, had given him this unconventional soft spot for a downtrodden halfie?

  I shook my head to clear it and promised myself a nap as soon as we were back on the road. I was drifting far off course and needed to answer the uber-alpha’s question rather than peppering him with an interrogation of my own. So I forced the image of Crew’s lifeless face to rise up behind my eyes, and the memory certainly did the trick of squashing my raging hormones.

  As a result, my voice was terse when I spoke at last. “You smelled Crew—our captured enemy,” I answered. “Someone shot him from the woods while you were gone. He’s dead.”

  To my dismay, the uber-alpha appeared entirely unconcerned about the kid’s demise. Instead, he was all business as he confirmed: “I heard the shot.”

  I drew in a breath to demand more information, but my companion was way ahead of me. Rubbing his thumb across my palm, he elaborated: “I didn’t find the sniper, though. He was long gone, and so were the rest of the wolves. They’d parked half a mile away, on the other side of the campground.”

  The image of Crew’s dead body stretched out beside my own flickered into my vision once again, making my stomach churn. I forced down a sour taste that threatened to expel yesterday’s dinner, and the reaction wasn’t entirely due to the memory either. Instead, Hunter’s lack of interest in the boy’s fate hurt nearly as much as Crew’s death.

  I loosened my fingers and disentangled my hand from the grasp of the uber-alpha who suddenly seemed more like a Tribunal enforcer than like my mate. Or I tried to. In the end, I was forced to jerk free of my companion’s strong grip when he refused to let them go.

  What did I do now? The words might as well have been written across the uber-alpha’s face, and I almost laughed at his confusion. Much as it hurt, though, I was glad of the reminder that Hunter was uninterested in being part of a shifter pack. Given my weakness as an alpha, we c
ouldn’t afford to incorporate such a strong presence into our little band if he wasn’t trustworthy beyond a shadow of a doubt.

  “We’re going to deliver Crew’s body back to his family,” I said instead of delving into the feelings that were best not dumped onto a stranger’s shoulders. I swallowed, imagining having to tell the boy’s family how and why he’d perished. I’d only known Crew for a few minutes, but I still felt like the teenager’s death was my own fault.

  “I can call someone from the Tribunal to come and pick him up if you’d rather,” Hunter rumbled, patting at his bare ass as if a cell phone might materialize there if he looked hard enough. Despite myself, I sneaked a glance at the buttocks in question. Yep, Hunter’s physique was even more impressive than Quill’s.

  Irrelevant, I reminded myself. But I still offered the uber-alpha my cell phone as a sort of consolation prize.

  “Delivering Crew’s body is no problem,” I said before Hunter could dial. “But you won’t fit into our car any longer. So if you want to call someone to pick you up....”

  My words trailed off and I looked away, unable to meet Hunter’s eyes as I summarily ejected him from our little clan. I didn’t know whether the uber-alpha wanted to travel with us in the first place, and it had only been an hour since my pack mates had near-unanimously cast him out of our group without even needing my vote to clinch the deal. Still, I felt guilty to be the bearer of bad tidings.

  To my surprise, Hunter touched my shoulder so briefly I almost thought I’d imagined it. Was he trying to console me? But then the uber-alpha had turned away, the phone raised to his ear as he relayed information about the battle just past.

  I listened unabashedly, and my heart sank as I did so. Because it appeared we weren’t the only halfies who had been attacked this morning. There was now another girl missing. And if Daisy Rambler’s fate was any indication, this new kidnapping victim didn’t have much time left to live.

  “SERENE,” GINGER OFFERED from the back seat half an hour after we’d pulled out of the campground with Quill, but not Hunter, in tow.

  We were trying to come up with an honest yet complimentary review of the campground to thank the cookie lady for her midnight snack, but the trouble twin’s word didn’t quite match the reality of our experience. After all, while our head count remained the same as when we’d arrived at The Woodland Hideaway, Hunter’s absence felt like the cavity left by a missing tooth—minor in reality but absurdly large when I poked at the space with my tongue.

  Plus, our newest co-traveler was dead. Which I guess made him technically calm and tranquil. Still, death wasn’t what I’d normally call serene.

  “Pastoral,” Cinnamon agreed. “The perfect vacation.”

  “Great wildlife sightings,” Lia chimed in. And despite Crew’s corpse acting like an anchor depressing my mood, I couldn’t help laughing as every other member of the car cracked up at the girl’s pun. Lia had definitely hit the nail on the head, so I obediently keyed her words into the review site and hit Submit.

  The humor was much appreciated because we were even now turning through the ungated archway of the Franklin compound. The ostentatious entrance looked ominous and I had a feeling laughter would be hard to come by in the near future. I just hoped Crew’s former pack leader wouldn’t literally rip my head off for returning his underling in a homemade body bag.

  Sure enough, our tires had barely crunched across five feet of gravel driveway when a man and two wolves stepped out of the trees and into our path. We weren’t moving very fast, but Glen still had to slam on the brakes to prevent our car from sliding into the welcoming party, and Ginger growled quietly at the Franklins’ cheek.

  “Let’s all be on our best behavior,” I admonished the pack in general, seeking out the female trouble twin’s gaze in particular. The redhead rolled her eyes, but nodded. She knew as well as I did that coming into another clan’s territory with a bad attitude was a recipe for never leaving that territory alive.

  “Shall I?” Glen asked, his hand on the door latch. But I shook my head. Despite my weak wolf, I was the pack leader and needed to act my part.

  So I emerged from our vehicle alone and strode over to greet the older man, who I guessed had to be the Franklin alpha. From the stony expression on his face, I figured he was throwing some sort of compulsion in my direction, too. But my wolf was sound asleep and I couldn’t even feel his power rolling off my back.

  “Hunter said you’d be expecting me,” I said rather than commenting on the silent contest that I’d won by dint of simply ignoring it. “I’m Fen.”

  The other pack leader didn’t accept my proffered hand, nor did he offer his name. But the two wolves at his heels also didn’t spring forward to rip out my throat, so I figured our introductions were a resounding success.

  “You have our boy?” the two-legger demanded instead.

  I pointed my chin toward the hatchback of the car, which Cinnamon was even now pushing open to reveal Crew’s silent form. The boy’s body was still warm, and I didn’t blame the wolves on either side of me for growling as they caught the coppery scent of his blood.

  Still, I couldn’t let them get away with such an overt display of aggression either. So I stepped between my pack and the Franklin shifters, pulling my sword from its scabbard in one smooth arc. The sun gleamed on the polished metal blade and one of the pack leader’s lackeys took an unconscious step backwards at the sight.

  “Quaint,” his alpha said shortly. “But you don’t need that here. Your guardian made it entirely clear that every member of your little pack is under the protection of the Tribunal.”

  My guardian? I couldn’t decide if the word sounded sweet...or paternalistic. So I ignored it just the way the Franklin alpha was ignoring my raised weapon and stepping around me to take in Crew’s bloody corpse.

  Despite his posturing and gruffness, I could tell the older man was honestly pained by the sight of his underling’s body, so I met Glen’s gaze across the car, beckoning my beta to join us in gently lifting the deceased down to the ground.

  “He seemed like a good kid,” I offered when the boy was once again laid flat on the earth. Soon, I knew, his pack would be lighting the traditional funereal bonfire, and I wished I could be present to speed him on his way into the afterlife. But, barring an invitation that I doubted would be forthcoming, I figured I should offer words of tribute now.

  “My son was a strong hunter,” the pack leader answered, making me start in surprise. Not because he’d turned the eulogy in a different direction. Unlike me, most werewolves would consider bravery more important to comment upon than personality. So the alpha’s praise wasn’t unexpected.

  Instead, it was the word son that had caught my attention. I hadn’t realized Crew was so highly ranked within the Franklin pack, and the boy’s lineage made me wonder whether the SSS was more widely accepted than just being the renegade outpack organization I’d initially assumed.

  No time like the present to test my hypothesis. “Crew was killed by the SSS,” I offered now, keeping my attention trained on the other pack leader as I assessed his reaction.

  If I’d hoped to startle a telling response out of the other alpha, I was disappointed. At first, he didn’t even take his gaze away from his dead son’s face. And when the pack leader did finally turn around to peer at me once again, the older man’s expression was shuttered and impossible to read.

  “Thank you for delivering my son,” he said in a cordial but clear dismissal. The words were a slap in the face, a refusal to let us travel more than ten feet onto Franklin land after we’d done his pack a favor by delivering his son’s dead body back into his loving arms.

  But I could understand where he was coming from. We were an unknown entity. And I’d easily avoided the other shifter’s compulsion, suggesting that I could out-alpha Crew’s father in a fight.

  True, that appearance was entirely incorrect. But the older pack leader didn’t need to know that.

  So I just shru
gged and followed my friends back to our car. Still, as we made a three-point turn and exited the Franklin territory as quickly as we’d come, I realized that the other alpha had answered my question after all.

  He’d never asked what “SSS” stood for. And, if the Franklin pack leader hadn’t known, surely he would have requested more information about his son’s murderers.

  Which implicated the entire Franklin clan as potential members of the Shifter Sanitation Society.

  Chapter 10

  OUTPACK SHIFTERS SELDOM put down roots because most of us aren’t strong enough to defend a permanent territory on our own. So I wasn’t surprised to discover that Quill’s home consisted of an old VW van currently parked in the bar’s otherwise empty lot.

  What did surprise me was the interior. The cowboy shifter had ripped out fake wood and vinyl and replaced the original seats and tables with custom-built furnishings that resembled a well-decorated if rather cramped apartment.

  “Home sweet home,” he said, spreading his hands wide in a rather self-conscious gesture of welcome as I followed him into the vehicle. I got the impression Quill thought I might judge the van lacking, but my pack and I had been bedding down together in a single tent for the better part of a month. An RV, even a homemade one, was a major step up.

  “Impressive,” I said, running one finger over a polished hardwood countertop. There wasn’t even any dust present. But I guessed if you weren’t part of a pack, there wasn’t much to do with your free time other than clean.

  Which reminded me of the shifters I was currently supposed to be managing. I poked my head back out the door just in time to catch Cinnamon bringing the two clips at one end of the jumper cables closer and closer together. Trust a trouble twin to think it would be interesting to see exactly what happens when you short out a car battery.

  “Cinnamon,” I called, stopping him in the act. Then I shot a glance toward the empty building twenty feet away, hoping no one had heard me raise my voice. Shifter bars didn’t tend to open until dusk, so we had several hours to get Quill’s van back on the road before anyone else showed up.