Dirty Alphas

by Alexa B. James

  Arching back her long neck, Scarlet lets her hair fall down her back. She doesn’t glance back at us or show any sign that she’s aware there are three alphas still sitting in her cramped, uncomfortable-as-hell chairs. She’s sending us a message as clearly as if she’d shouted it. She doesn’t see us as a threat.

  Nervy as hell.

  And slightly alluring.

  It stands in stark contrast to the fear scent she was pumping into the air earlier. Even that smells sweet, but it’s nothing compared to the scent she was putting out a few minutes ago—not that I’m about to let myself get distracted by a curvy female’s arousal right now.

  “I also want to start teaching them the new choreography we worked on for that paired dance.” Scarlet’s knuckles whiten as she pushes into the fae prince’s sides. From the strain in her fingers, I can guess Scarlet is pushing hard. She is obviously desperate to get her prince away from my brothers and me, but the idiot isn’t taking the hint.

  Prince Macklin winks down at Scarlet and gives her a flirtatious twist of his lips as a dimple creases up his cheek. “You just want to spend the evening held in my magnificent arms.” He flexes his biceps before his blue eyes flash to me for just a second. “We could dance to Fae Sex Addiction.”

  Scarlet lets out a snort and pushes the prince’s chest in a way that isn’t quite believable as playful. She laughs again when the fae refuses to budge and then pushes again. “If I never heard that song again, it would be too soon.” Push. “And seriously, is there no end to your ego?”

  “None, but you’ve had years to figure that out.” With that, the prince glances around the room. Clearly, he wants us to know he’s had a long-standing relationship with the werewolf woman currently shielding him with her own body.

  It’s obvious they’re close, but in which way, I’m not entirely sure. The understandable guess would be lovers, but something in the way they hold each other, familiar but guarded, makes me question that thought.

  “Touché,” Scarlet says, playfully pointing into prince Macklin’s face.

  The whole exchange is as cute as it is unprofessional, and I would have thought less of the beautiful werewolf for it if I didn’t notice how many times she’s tried to push the fae toward the back door of her office.

  Scarlet shakes her head before setting a stuffed Saint Nicholas on her desk. The decoration immediately faceplants and rolls to the edge.

  I stand, cross the four feet of space in a single stride, and catch Santa as he rolls off the polished wood desktop.

  As I go to replace the cotton stuffed decoration, Scarlet spins, snapping her wavy hair across my face like a thousand tiny whips. Facing me, she bares her teeth. Something shines from her eyes for just an instant, something powerful and angry. Scarlet blinks and the look disappears along with the snarl before I get a chance to process what I just saw.

  She pleasantly smiles up at me, muttering a, “Thank you,” and takes Saint Nick from my hands. “Um, Mack,” she says as she turns back to the faery prince. “Just let me log out of my computer and lock a few drawers. Would you grab my bag over here behind the desk?”

  “Would you like me to carry your lazy ass as well?” Macklin says with a wide grin, grabbing the bag.

  Scarlet shrugs. “If you don’t mind.”

  The prince wraps his hands around Scarlet’s waist and swings her further away from my brothers and me. It’s like they’re doing a not-so-subtle dance, continually swinging and shielding the other away from the threat. We are the threat.

  I have no problem with that, although I find it odd that a fae would ever wish to shield a werewolf, especially a royal fae. Why the hell bother? Their…relationship is definitely unusual.

  A strange smell wafts across my senses, surprising the shit out of me by its strength and source. Lance stinks of marking pheromones, the smell a werewolf secretes and then rubs along his or her mate to warn off other interested wolves.

  The. Fuck?

  My cold and controlled brother has never so much as shown one iota of long-term, romantic interest in a woman, let alone secreted mating pheromones for a woman he’d met less than an hour ago.

  If Scarlet notices the smell, she ignores it in her focus to get her belongings together. Slowly her head comes up, and she faces us for the first time since her fae friend entered the room. I have to admit, under the dirt and messy hair, the girl has the kind of face that could convince a hardened biker to make room for her on his seat.

  Scarlet taps a finger on her desk. “If you’ll just leave your applications here, I can do the credit checks, speak to your references, and give you a call tomorrow.”

  That woman might be filling the air with the scent of her anxiety, but she obviously can’t leave without throwing another insult in our direction. Credit checks and references are only something werewolves do for other species. Members of well-known packs don’t go through processing, especially alphas.

  Again, so damn brazen. I can’t help but respect her for it.

  “You can’t stay to process this and get us in our rooms tonight?” Lance asks as his hands grip his clipboard so tight, I swear I hear the wood groan. From the tone of Lance’s voice, that’s exactly what he expects her to do. I have to suppress a grin since I already know exactly how she’s going to respond to this, and it should be very entertaining.

  “Oh, did you think this was a hotel?” Scarlet purses her bee-stung lips. “If you guys wanted a room tonight, you shouldn’t have arrived a few minutes before closing time. Sorry, but I really can’t just drop everything to serve you.” She gestures to Prince Macklin. “We team teach dance every Thursday evening at the teen shelter, and we need to practice.”

  Yep. She’s just made my day. My eyes swivel to Lance, waiting for his reaction.

  Lance stands slowly, crossing the room to stand beside me. Setting his application on the desk, he slides it toward Scarlet. “We would appreciate it if you came back after your lessons and processed this as quickly as possible.”

  I really don’t like to laugh at others' expense, especially at my brothers’ expense, but this is just too comical for words. This is probably the first time someone has ever said ‘no’ to Lance Knight in—how many years? Eight? And it’s obviously killing the poor guy.

  The fae prince smirks at Lance. “She said tomorrow, and I would appreciate it if you didn’t make my girl work any more than she already does. You dudes can wait until morning when she opens up again.”

  Lance’s eyes flash in anger, while I bite the inside of my cheek so hard, I taste the metallic tang of blood. When this sexy little werewolf snarled at me and mouthed off to my brother, that was funny, but a fae prince shooting off that arrogant mouth with a Knight Alpha is an entirely different story. My fingertips tingle as I feel them elongate and sharpen.

  Prince Macklin keeps both duffel bags on his left shoulder and wraps his other arm around Scarlet’s waist, pulling her from her desk and toward the inner door.

  “Come on, my beautiful,” the prince says, still staring at my brothers and me. Then out of the door the pair saunter.

  Even though I try to stop my gaze from veering down to Scarlet’s backside, it’s like my eyes have a mind of their own, insisting on focusing on her incredible curves. The moment I realize what I’m doing, though, I force my gaze away, only to notice I’m not the only pervert in the room.

  Aaron watches the pair, looking almost mesmerized, and it occurs to me, Aaron hasn’t spoken in at least the last twenty minutes, perhaps more. Lance and I had talked more than our youngest brother during this whole exchange; that might be some kind of record.

  Aaron breaks his uncharacteristic quiet spell to chuckle. “Does anyone want to tell me what just happened here? I thought we came in to talk to the building’s owner about buying the building for demolition, and now we're renting three apartments in a low-rent haven-house? You knew Scarlet Riley worked here, right?”

  I turn back to examine Lance’s profile. My oldest brothe
r is hard to read, but from the way he’s working his jaw back and forth, I can tell Lance is trying to figure something out. Hard. I’ve often thought if personalities could be understood and calculated like equations, Lance would be unstoppable. It’s always that splash of chaos people bring to a scenario that Lance’s meticulous planning never seems to account for.

  I hear the smack of Aaron’s boots hitting the floor, but I don’t look over as he comes to stand beside us. Aaron clears his throat and lowers his voice. “This is all part of the plan, right?”

  “Of course it is,” I mutter, lying through my ass so Lance won’t have to. Scratching my beard, I glower at Aaron. “We just didn’t tell you.”

  Aaron scrunches up his lips like he’s just bit into a lemon. “I figured it was something like that with you two.” He turns back to the door, and just as soon as his sour mood comes on, it vanishes. A slow smile creeps across his features. “So, what’s our plan around her? I’ve never seen a doe with such sharp fangs…nor one that smelled like honey.”

  “She’s not a doe; she’s a threat, and so is her fae boyfriend,” Lance says, finally speaking up. From where his hand grips the desk, I think I see a glimpse of blackened claws and dark hair sprouting before it all disappears, smooth skin replacing it.

  But that’s—that’s impossible. It’s more likely I’m seeing shit that isn’t there. Lance Knight never loses control of his wolf.

  The eight-foot square room feels like it’s closing in around me. For some reason, the confined space hasn’t bothered me until this moment. Perhaps it’s the sweet honeysuckle scent that hangs in the air, helping to keep my wolf content.

  The confinement bothers me now.

  Without a word, I turn on my heel and stomp out of the room, closing the door behind me. The moment I step outside, the cloying scent of the redwood forest greets me. The woods are laid out just a few hundred yards away, rolling hills of deep green trees with white mist feeding between their high peaks. A pulse of longing comes from the wolf spirit within me.

  “Soon.”

  I whisper the word to myself as much as I do to my wolf. This land was my father’s packland, and his father’s before him. Soon. Very soon, the Knight family will rule all of Northern California again.

  Chapter Seven

  Scarlet

  My phone is officially my enemy. I literally have to restrain my fingers from crushing it as I hold it before me, waiting for my father to send a reply.

  I sent him a message as soon as the door closed between the Knight brothers and me. My fingers were shaking as I’d run toward the back of the complex with Mack at my heels, and I’d barely managed to write the message.

  Darrel, Lance and Aaron Knight just applied to rent apartments in my complex. I’m driving to you right now.

  The three little dots that indicate my father is responding appear instantly, but they disappear a moment later, only to appear again. Mack had insisted on driving my beat-up little sedan, and here we are, halfway between Eureka and Arcata on Samoa Boulevard, going ninety.

  Just send anything before I die of frustration, Dad.

  The dots disappear again as soon as I send the text and reappear a moment later.

  “This has to be pretty serious if you’re letting me drive you to your father’s house. Do you mind telling me what the hell that was all about back there?”

  Mack jerks the wheel and cuts around a red truck that’s belching black smoke. We veer into the path of oncoming traffic, and a loud chorus of honking erupts from the SUV heading straight for us. My stomach lodges in my throat until Mack veers us back into our lane. I suck in air through my teeth and dig my nails into my thighs before I grab the wheel and drive the damn car myself. After all these years, I still can’t handle his maniacal driving skills.

  I hurriedly finish up texting another plea for my father to freaking push send before calling my sister Zeezee and my mother for good measure. When neither one of them answers their phones, a chill runs through me from my neck to the tips of my fingers.

  The Knight brothers arrived with malintent, I can just feel it, and now every member of my family is incommunicado.

  Why aren’t they answering their damn cells?

  Is it possible they can’t answer them?

  I’m sick to my stomach as my vivid imagination conjures up all sorts of kidnapping and bloody maiming scenarios.

  It’s fine, Scar. No reason to panic just yet. Zeezee never willingly answers her phone or calls back unless she wants something from you.

  And Dad’s always busy with pack business.

  Yep. Nothing to worry about.

  Mack jerks the wheel again and curses in Portuguese. It sounds so beautiful, I almost forget how dirty the words are.

  “You know the traffic cops won’t instantly give you a free pass in this car, right? Also, I'd like to survive long enough to get married and have at least two kids,” I grumble as he floors the gas to swerve around yet another car.

  “Was that a proposition? I would love to have kids with you.”

  “Mack!” I yell.

  Blaring horns behind us let us know we’ve pissed a few motorists off.

  “Stop deflecting. Those three dudes know who you are, and I did not enjoy the way they looked at you…as if they owned you. It was like they felt entitled to special treatment.” He speeds up to pass a biker dude and flips him off when the guy throws out some colorful expletives.

  Mack’s words give me pause, though, as I’d somehow expected Mack to have instantly recognized the Knight brothers as I had. He'd been doing his utmost to keep his body between me and them, so I’d just assumed he knew the extent of the threat sitting in my office.

  Opening the glove compartment, I find a Peanutty chocolate bar I’ve been saving for emergencies and rip it open.

  “Don’t think shoving chocolate in your mouth will save you from answering me,” he says, half-teasing, half-not.

  “Leave me alone. I’m stress eating.” I bite down on the bar and focus on the peanut butter goodness while I try to think of what I should tell Mack.

  “Scar?” he says, his voice dropping low and a little grating.

  I know that tone. If I don’t come up with something concrete, he’ll sniff around me like a bloodhound on steroids. My wolf once again swells up, urging me to open up to Mack and let him into our lives more fully. She’s always been uber possessive of Mack, and I usually loosen my reins on her when I’m with him.

  I turn to check out his profile, and for the millionth time, I’m struck by the oddity of his near-constant single status. Mack is easy-going, funny, sweet, and loving. He’s a celebrity. On top of all that, his striking features and jet-black hair are damn irresistible, and those dimples...I don’t know why, but I’ve always had the random urge to just lick one. Yet, Mack rarely dated in high school or college. For a while, I thought it was because he was only interested in serious relationships, but when Mack started going steady with this badass witch named June in New York, their relationship never progressed. After six months, June just stopped coming around.

  Maybe it’s a fae prince thing? Like, he can only get serious about people his queen mother approves of or something. She definitely doesn’t approve of me—not that Mack and I have ever been lovers aside from kissing under the bleachers in high school.

  “What's going on is one of those things I can’t talk about, Mack,” I say with an apologetic grimace.

  He raises a dark brow but doesn’t push anymore. Mack and I have been best friends since the seventh grade, ever since he fell into the seat next to me in History. I’d known who he was—I’m pretty sure the whole school knew who he was even before he walked into our predominantly fae high school. His dark hair had been long then, falling around his handsome face and mischievous expression.

  I remember thinking there was no way I’d be spending my whole year surrounded by fae royalty. I hung with the werewolves around campus for companionship and safety—but the sole reason I’d
attended high school was so I could make it into a good college far, far away, not to get mind-fucked by rich ass fae. From what I could tell at the time, fae only took an interest in a werewolf if it played a part in one of their twisted games. They might also challenge werewolves to a fight in the woods surrounding our school. I’d been grabbing my bag, planning to head to the other side of the room when Mack had leaned in and grinned with full-wattage dimples on display. He’d held out a hand to me.

  “Truce,” he’d said.

  “Truce?”

  I remembered saying the word like I didn’t even know what it meant. As far as I knew, the fae and werewolves already had an official ceasefire, at least out in the open. And who was I to negotiate political alliances with a prince? I was a pack beta’s daughter.

  “There will have to be ground rules, of course, for our friendship. It’ll be pretty damn dangerous to be close to each other—but I have a feeling you’re not the kind of person who backs away from danger.” He'd raised his brows as his eyes had twinkled with a clear challenge.

  “You deduced this much about me in the five seconds you’ve been sitting here?” I’d asked him.

  He’d only smiled and said, “Yep.”

  Thus ballooned an eight-year friendship. Part of the truce he’d mentioned was that neither of us pried into each other’s family business or the secrets of our respective races. I currently know nothing of his duties as a prince of faery, and he knows nothing about the werewolf packs. It’s what makes us work.

  Mack rolls back his shoulders, and as we turn onto the Samoa Bridge, he slows to something closer to the speed limit. “Can you just tell me you’re not in danger?” he says on a long exhale, as if he’s deflating. When he turns back to me, his usual mischievous smile lights across his face. “I’m having a very strong urge to kidnap you and bring you back to New York. But…I’ve been having that urge all summer.”

  “You can go back at any time,” I say as I stuff the rest of the peanut buttery goodness in my mouth. “No one appointed you my fairy godfather.”