Alfa Blood Box Set

by Mac Flynn

  "Then message this back to the High Lord!" boomed Lord Stevens' voice. The man himself marched into the hall and the messenger retreated a few yards toward us. "I will not see the office of High Lord degraded by these orders!" Each word was punctuated by a step down the hall that pushed the messenger ever closer to where we stood. "Protocol calls for a meeting of the lords, or no change at all! Did you get that message?"

  The messenger furiously nodded his head. "Y-yes, my lord. I'll send it off immediately." The man scurried down the hall and nearly collided into Luke on his way through us.

  "And see that it's posted as quickly as possible!" Stevens shouted. The messenger paused at the front door, bowed his head, and escaped the angered lord. Stevens noticed us for the first time, and he wasn't any more pleased with our surprise as he was with Simpling's. "What are you two doing here? Come to cause more disunion among the regions?" he barked.

  "Father," Stacy scolded.

  "Don't 'Father' me. With my shift as High Lord over I am beholden to no one else but my own people and their interests," Stevens argued.

  "And that's exactly why we're here," Luke spoke up.

  Stevens paused and raised an eyebrow. "What's that? What are you talking about?"

  "We have very good reason to believe Lance and his allies are plotting to-"

  Stevens' face turned a nice shade of grape purple and he clenched his hands at his sides. His voice boomed over the entire house. "More conspiracy theories?" he yelled. He wasn't pleased to hear we had more accusations against Lance.

  "This isn't a theory," Baker spoke up. "Attempts have been made on the lives of us and my children."

  "And we got a fake message from Stacy that led us into a trap," I added. Stacy frowned and looked to Luke, who closed his eyes and shook his head. A further explanation would come later.

  Stevens whipped his head from one of us to the others. "And where is your proof, hmm? Or do you yell these same slanderous accusations once again without a smidge of evidence?" he shouted.

  "Is there a problem, sir?" a voice spoke up. We glanced down the hall and saw a young man about my age walking toward us. He had a small, restrained smile and behind his bespectacled glasses were a pair of sharp, alert eyes. In his left hand was a black briefcase with an intricate lock on the front. The stranger bowed his head at the two lords and cast a quick glance at Alistair. I swear his eyes flickered with interest toward the manservant. Then he turned his full attention to Stevens. "I heard shouting and thought I'd better come see what was the matter."

  "What's the matter is these fools bringing accusations against a fellow lord merely to spite me and inconvenience him," Stevens replied.

  "That's not true!" Baker argued. Luke grasped the man's arm and arrested him from jumping in Stevens' face.

  "I'm sorry we've upset you, Lord Stevens," Luke apologized. "We only came here to see Miss Stacy. If you'll excuse us." He bowed his head, turned his back on everyone except Stacy, who he grasped gently by the arm, and led them both away in the direction we'd come.

  Alistair followed close behind, and Baker and I looked to each other in surprise. I shrugged and hurried after them with Baker on my heels. Luke led us down the hall to the front doors, and I caught one last glimpse over my shoulder at Stevens and the stranger. Stevens was pointing at us and angrily muttering something to the man, but the stranger had a serene countenance and merely patted Stevens on the arm. I was surprised how fast Stevens calmed. One moment he was tense and the next his shoulders drooped and he nodded. The stranger then led Stevens away from us and back to the room Stevens had come out of.

  The man paused in the doorway and smiled at us. I didn't like it. That smile had too many sharp teeth in it that spelled trouble for us.

  12

  Luke didn't stop until we were outside and by the stone wall far out of hearing shot from the house. "Are there cameras around here?" he asked Stacy.

  She nodded to the long row of lilac bushes that skirted the wall. "Not in there," she told him. Stacy guided us into a cramped little hideaway hole. It was a tight squeeze, but we managed not to poke each other with our shoulders too often. "I made this when I was little, and thought it might come in handy some day," Stacy explained with a smile.

  Luke wasn't amused. "We have big problems," he told her.

  "I guessed that from what you were trying to say to my father, but you may as well give up on him. Cranston has him in his pocket," she replied.

  "Cranston?" Baker spoke up.

  She nodded. "The man with the glasses you just met. He's Brian Cranston, a gift from Simpling to my father who arrived a few weeks ago."

  "A gift? Did somebody forget to tell me werewolves have slaves?" I quipped.

  Stacy sighed and leaned back against a large lilac branch. "Currently my father fits that description better than Cranston. Since my father was no longer High Lord he lost the secretaries who went with the position. They helped him run not only Sanctuary, but also Manutia. Simpling offered Cranston as an assistant to help my father manage the large operation of being lord over such a heavily populated region," she replied.

  Luke raised an eyebrow. "How convenient that Simpling would have someone on hand to help your father."

  Stacy snarled. "Help my father? Cranston's taken over his house, lord duties, and even his personality," she bitterly argued. "My father hasn't been the same since Cranston came. He's absentminded and lethargic. When he does show any emotion it's usually explosive. You saw an example of that when you came in. He's always been loud, but not that angry." I wanted to argue, but I could see how badly her father's change affected her. There were dark bags under Stacy's eyes and she looked pale.

  "Has this Cranston guy done anything suspicious with your father's duties?" Luke asked her.

  She shrugged. "I don't know. Father won't let me into his office anymore, and Cranston is always around to stop me from asking him what's going on. He says my father hasn't been feeling well lately. I think he's right, but he's the one causing the illness."

  "When we were inside I smelled an odd scent. It smelled like Lance," Luke told her.

  Stacy's lips pursed together. "So you smelled it, too? I've asked others about it, but their noses aren't as sensitive as mine. The city air," she told us.

  "How did yours get sensitive?" I wondered.

  She nodded at Luke. "Several years of training and staying at his house will make a mountain man out of anyone, even a woman."

  "Have you seen any signs of him?" Luke persisted.

  She shook her head. "Not a sign, but I know the scent is strongest in my father's office. I went in there the other day and was nearly suffocated by the stuff. It must be Cranston's doing."

  "But you can't prove any of this," Luke guessed.

  Stacy slipped on the mischievous smile that I knew, loved, and feared. "Not yet, but he'll slip up one day and leave that briefcase of his lying around. Then I'll see what's been going on and what he's up to," she replied.

  "We might already know what he's up to, and what he's been doing," Luke told her.

  I whipped my head over to him and blinked. "We do?" I wondered.

  "The fake note?" Baker guessed, and Luke nodded.

  "Exactly. Who would be in a better position to send it than the private secretary to her father?" Luke pointed out.

  "So we're dealing with a secretary who knows how to forge secret messages?" I chimed in.

  "We've had more implausible foes, like Alston," Luke reminded me.

  I cringed. "Don't remind me about him." The crazy accountant werewolf of Lance's had tried to do me in personally during our adventures at Sanctuary.

  "Was the forgery that good?" Stacy asked us.

  "Good enough to fool me into going to see Baker, and that's where we fell into the trap," Luke told her. "Four men were waiting there for us and were going to pin a murder on us."

  Stacy raised an eyebrow. "Murder? Who were they going to murder?" she wondered.

  "By the time we go
t there they had already provided themselves with the victim," Baker spoke up. "The guy wore a Protector's outfit, and the message Laughton got said something about me killing a Protector because I was a traitor."

  Stacy scoffed and waved away such a suggestion. "The only one you're a traitor to is Lance's ambitions, and I don't believe you had any loyalties to them in the first place."

  "No," was Baker's blunt reply.

  "Um, you guys?" I spoke up. "As entertaining as this is, are we really going to be talking all night in these lilac bushes?" It was late, and I was tired and hungry.

  Stacy smiled at me. "I'm glad to hear this mess hasn't dampened your priorities," she teased.

  At that moment my stomach decided to grumble. The sound echoed off the bush branches, and I sheepishly grinned. "It's just made them more demanding," I told her.

  "Then I second an adjournment of this meeting," Stacy agreed. She held up her hand when Luke opened his mouth to object. "One night of rest isn't going to allow our enemies to win," she told him.

  "And fighting on empty stomachs is a bad idea," I chimed in.

  "Have you got a place to stay?" Stacy asked us.

  "Not yet. Any suggestions?" Luke returned.

  "That depends on how much money you have. Rent and room prices have gone up a lot in the last year or so, mostly thanks to those who profited from Chemisis' rising stock."

  "Chemisis?" I repeated.

  "That's the company that makes the cleaner we used at Sanctuary," Stacy reminded me. Luke stood at my side and I felt him stiffen. Stacy noticed our faces tensed, and she frowned. "What now?"

  "They might be our enemy, too," I told her.

  "Who? Chemisis?" she wondered.

  "Yep. One of the guys who tried to kill us at Baker's farm had some pills that made his scent disappear just like the chemical we used to clean up Alistair's blood," I explained.

  "And that's what you're going on to go up against one of the largest companies in the regions?" she asked us.

  "Mullen isn't an ally to us," Luke added. "He proved that much in his votes with Lance at Sanctuary."

  Stacy sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. "Becky's right, with this much trouble we do need to sleep on this." She pulled out a paper and pen, and hastily scribbled a few things on the front. "Why don't you take a room at the Doghouse and meet me at this address tomorrow morning at seven? It's a good restaurant and they have great omelets." She handed the paper to Luke.

  I didn't get past the name of the place she wanted us to room at. "You're sending us to the doghouse?" I repeated.

  She smiled. "It doesn't sound like much, but the Doghouse Hotel is the best place in town. It also has some great security and guarantees privacy for its guests."

  "Sounds like the place we need," Luke agreed.

  "Any chance you can write down an address for a good clothing store?" I pleaded. I opened my arms and showed off the elegant, dirt-covered farm dress. It was comfortable, but not my style.

  Stacy laughed and patted me on the shoulder. "We'll see if we can fit shopping into our busy schedule," she promised.

  We broke up the meeting and, after thorough instructions from Stacy on how to go by foot to the Doghouse Hotel, we headed there. I was ready to forget our troubles, at least for a moment, but when we entered the lobby of the ground, seventy-floor hotel there was the ever-present reminder of our troubles. That damn armband on the arm of the desk clerk. To make matters worse, his color was red.

  Our little group of four strode up to the desk and he smiled at us. "Good evening. How can I help you?" he greeted us.

  "We'd like three rooms," Luke replied.

  "For how long will you be staying?" the man asked us.

  "We're not sure, so book us for two nights," Luke told him.

  The man typed the information into the computer by his side. "Very well. What names?"

  "Mr. Smith and party," Luke answered.

  The man paused with his fingers hovering over the keyboard and glanced up at Luke with a raised eyebrow. "Mr. Smith?" he repeated.

  Luke didn't miss a beat except for his trembling hand by his side. I grasped his hand to hide his nervous nerves. "Yes. Is there a problem?"

  "I'm afraid I'm going to need more than a first name, and those in your party." The man's dark eyes swept over us as though he was trying to memorize each of our faces. Baker scowled back at him, and the man paled. "It's a new company policy, sir. I'm sorry, but it can't be helped."

  "Miss Stacy Stevens suggested your hotel. Perhaps I should tell her how rude you are to her friends?" Luke threatened.

  The color on the man's face went from egg-white to chalk. "Miss Stevens?" he gulped.

  "Yes. Daughter to Lord Stevens," Luke affirmed.

  "A-a moment, sir, while I speak with my manager." The man scurried off into the back room, and Luke turned to us with pursed lips.

  "I'd hoped to remain incognito to casual followers, but it seems our foes are one step ahead of us," he whispered.

  "Do hotels usually ask for full names of all the guests?" I asked him.

  "Yes, but as Stacy told us the Doghouse is famous for its secrecy. It seems that policy is no more."

  "Then we should leave. I don't like the look of that man's face," Baker suggested.

  "Hopefully we can still rely on their security," Luke reminded him. We quieted when the man reappeared with an apologetic smile on his face.

  "I'm sorry for the delay, sirs, but the manager tells me to allow you to stay, and as an apology your meals are free," the man informed us.

  Luke smiled and bowed his head. "That's very kind of him."

  "However, for special instances such as yours we do require payment in advance," the clerk requested.

  "Not a problem." Luke handed over the money, in cash, to the flustered man.

  "I'll put you in some nice rooms on the second floor. Would you like a bellhop for your luggage or to show you the way?" he wondered.

  "No thanks. We'll just take the keys and find the way ourselves," Luke replied. He snatched the keys from the man's hands and guided us over to the elevators. We stepped in and the elevator moved, but not very far before Luke slammed the stop button and looked at each of us. "I don't like the smell of this."

  "It's the lack of baths," I quipped.

  "Neither do I," Baker agreed. "First they won't give us rooms, now they do, and are treating us like royalty."

  "Or like lords," Luke spoke up.

  "In that case, would you like me to take the first watch, sir?" Alistair offered.

  "Watch?" I asked them. "Why are we having watches in a safe hotel?"

  "Because this place is no longer safe," Luke told me. "Our enemies know we're here."

  "Probably from that weaselly plant in Stevens' home," Baker agreed.

  "So why don't we leave here?" I suggested.

  "Because I doubt any place in the city would be safe, not with so many red armbands around, and at least here we know we're being watched and won't slide into complacency," Luke replied.

  "Or sleep," I muttered. There went my plans for a restful night. "So what do we do now?"

  "We take our rooms, and meet Stacy tomorrow with our suspicions," Luke told me.

  "If we live through the night," I whispered.

  13

  We survived the night, some of us better than others. My first order of business after I flopped down on the bed in our large, white room was to grab the phone and order a heaping plate of rare steak. I got as far as the phone when Luke grabbed it out of my hand and put it back on the receiver. "No food," he told me.

  My mouth dropped open. "I don't know about you, but starving is pretty high on my Terrible Deaths list," I quipped.

  "And on mine, but there are worse things than death," he countered.

  "Such as?"

  "Such as Lance getting a hold of us by putting drugs in the food," he pointed out.

  I rolled onto my back and groaned. "Isn't there some place we don't have to worry
about him?" I groaned. "I mean, every guy with a red armband doesn't have to be the enemy. Maybe he just liked the color?"

  "Perhaps, but that's a chance we can't take, particularly with his speaking to the manager about us," Luke argued.

  "What's the big deal about that?" I asked him.

  "Because the manager, who is also the owner, of the Doghouse is one of the largest stockholders for Chemisis," he told me.

  I sat up and frowned at him as he browsed the room. "Why are we at this place again?"

  "Because the manager is also loyal to his wallet."

  "So we're counting on this guy-"

  "Frederick Callean," Luke interrupted.

  "-this Frederick Callean being more loyal to his wallet than to his armband?" I guessed.

  "Precisely." Luke stuck his head in a vase and then opened a drawer on a small table.

  "Mind telling me what you're looking for?" I wondered.

  "Just making sure the room was as secure as advertised," he replied.

  I sighed and flopped down on the bed. "Well, if the hotel guys are listening then I want them to know they use way too much lilac scent in their sheet cleaner." I paused and sniffed my arm. "Or that's just me."

  "Just you and your untrained nose," Luke assured me.

  "Remind me to scold my werewolf teacher," I teased. I felt the bed bounce and looked down my chest at my lecherous teacher-mate. There was a dangerous glint in his eye that I found mildly attractive, and definitely sexy. "Don't you have a room to scour?" I asked him.

  "The work's all done, time for some play," he replied.

  "Oh no, none of that until the beast is appeased."

  "I am planning on appeasing the Beast," he teased.

  "I meant the one in my stomach." My stomach chimed in with a growl loud enough to cause Alistair to peep into the room from the hall door.

  "Did something happen?" he asked us.

  Luke sighed and sat down. "Unfortunately, no, but I suppose that's for the best. Will you be taking the first watch?" he asked the servant.

  "Yes, sir, and Baker will take the second."

  "And that leaves the third for me so we'll get some sleep," Luke finished.

  "And the fourth for me," I piped up.

  Luke smiled. "We'll see."

  The men took their shifts watching outside our nice rooms by stalking the halls like, well, wolves, and not a one of them woke me up for the fourth shift. I slept in fits on the otherwise comfortable bed, and was glad when the sun rose and we with it. We cleaned ourselves and followed some further directions Stacy had written on that magical piece of paper to the restaurant. It was a fancy establishment on the busiest street in the city with fine table clothes and people who wore suits worth more than my first car. Not that that was bragging, but those suits were still a lot of money. The name of the place was Hair of the Dog. A disgusting, and yet perfectly appropriate name.