Alpha's Truth

by Rebecca Royce

  “There was no one here. Not for a long time. I can’t find the faintest trace of a scent. Come sniff here yourself. Maybe a skunk a couple of days ago.”

  “My nose isn’t working. I’m basically human.” As she had said many times and he still hadn’t acknowledged, other than saying she would get better. Something he couldn’t possibly know.

  Right then, her frustration was getting her nowhere.

  “So you’re saying I made it all up. I didn’t see Arlow. I lied.”

  He stomped forward. “You chose to use the nasty word. It never crossed my mind you lied. If you say you saw something, you saw it.”

  “I’m not a liar then, I imagined Arlow. That’s what you think happened?”

  “Or you dreamed it. Maybe you fell asleep.”

  There weren’t words for how much she wanted to throttle him. A growl surged from her throat. He raised an eyebrow, and, in what she’d come to think of as typical Beaux fashion, he didn’t comment.

  “I wasn’t asleep. I didn’t make it up. He was here. Figure out why, or sleep with one eye open. Trust me, it’s not fun when he comes to you at night.”

  She turned around and stormed back into the house. They had to find the children. Beaux could track. He must possess a legendary skill because he’d impossibly found her. He would find the kids. Her need for his help constituted the only reason she stayed.

  Otherwise, she would get out of Montana as fast as she could, whether he liked it or not. True Mates be damned.

  ****

  She slept restlessly. Every time she drifted off, she jerked awake. The room was dark with a little bit of what should have been comforting light peeking in from a lamp down the hallway. There was no sound she could hear from anywhere in the house and, after a while, she got tired of listening to the nothingness around her.

  How was she was supposed to be feeling? What was a normal reaction for a werewolf after being held captive for six months? Could she still call herself a wolf?

  Lake stood and walked to the window. No more sightings of Arlow had to be a good thing—unless she’d never really seen him. She leaned her head against the cool glass. The temperature was freezing outside, but she’d hardly noticed it when she charged after Beaux.

  Did her ability to handle the cold mean she still had enough wolf in her to make it through the elements better than a human? She’d growled at him earlier, too. Had her response come out that way because her werewolf nature was returning or because he’d been acting like such a dink?

  Movement caught her eye. If she saw Arlow again, she’d deal with the man herself Surely Beaux had to have a shotgun or a shovel lying around. She’d put on her big girl panties, deal with the ass outside, then prove to mister-know-it-all she hadn’t been nuts.

  Only it wasn’t the True Believer moving around outside. It was Beaux. He came to a stop a distance away and dropped to his knees.

  She gasped. Was he hurt? Lake lunged from her spot by the window and tore down the stairs and out the front door. Her nightgown, a long flannel shirt she had found in the closet, lifted up to her knees as she ran.

  Barefoot in the snow, she kicked up the white powder as she moved, wishing she could run faster.

  He whirled at her arrival and jumped to his feet. “What’s wrong?”

  She shook her head as she grabbed him, tugging his body to hers. “What’s wrong with me? Nothing. What’s happened to you?”

  His brown-eyed gaze met hers in the moonlight. It wasn’t full moon anymore, but even the day after, the orb in the sky apparently remained big enough to light up the night in Montana like it was daytime. She never saw such a sight in Manhattan, too many lights blocking the view.

  “Nothing. Why would you think something had?”

  “You fell to your knees.”

  “Oh.” He rubbed at his eyes as he laughed. “I’m giving thanks and gratitude.”

  “What?” He’d answered her, but she had no idea what he meant.

  Beaux pointed upwards. “To the Moon. Thanks and gratitude.”

  She let him go and stepped back. An overwhelming sensation of embarrassment made her want to run and hide. What had she been thinking? Of course, nothing had happened to Beaux. He was a strong, virile Alpha wolf. What had she thought she could do if there had been something amiss? Her, the ridiculous, uncontrolled Healer who had managed to disrupt everyone’s life by getting kidnapped off the street in the middle of the day.

  “Lake?” He grabbed her arm. “Your smell altered. What’s going on?”

  “Nothing.” She cleared her throat. “Yesterday was full moon, right? Or am I losing time?”

  It took him a few second to answer. “You haven’t lost time, sweetheart. Why would you think so?”

  She knew the tone, having heard it many times from her brother. Whenever he thought she had flown out of the cray-cray nest, he suddenly spoke slowly, and every word he said left her wanting to claw his eyes out. From Beaux, the tone was somehow worse. If she could have crawled out of her skin, she would have.

  “Because you’re on your knees in the dirt, and it isn’t full moon. I mean I can see it’s not. I can look up and see the stage of the moon. And I don’t understand why you’re on your knees.” She shook her head. “Forget it. I’m going to stay in my room. I won’t bother you or anyone else.”

  “Lake.” He grabbed both her arms. “I give thanks and gratitude to the Moon each night. Don’t you?”

  “No. Why would you do that? Isn’t the moon worship usually contained to once a month before the shift? The Alpha gives thanks for the pack on full moon, and then the wolves shift. Or at least some Alphas do. Cyrus simply lets his pack handle their shifts in their own way.”

  Beaux pursed his lips before he spoke. “I give thanks every night, which is the more traditional, original way to go about things. We aren’t grateful to the Moon only on one night a month. We’re always willing to express appreciation, each night. When things are bad. When things are good. I always come out, kneel, and thank the Moon who created us.”

  Her head spun. She’d never heard of such a thing, not even from the pesky elders who were always spouting tradition.

  “Every night?”

  “Correct.”

  She pointed to the ground. “In the snow?”

  “The snow, the mud, the rain, the heat. Whatever. Each night.”

  Her head pounded. “Your tradition has to be the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.”

  His left eyebrow popped up an inch. “Is it?”

  “Yes. I mean, no, whatever. Why on earth would the Moon want you out here on your knees giving thanks every night? If you really believe in the whole legend crap, then fine, I get doing it for the shifts. Still, why this? Why all the time?”

  Truth was, Lake had no earthly idea why his ritual bothered her so much. Who gave a crap if Beaux Nelson lay out in the dirt and screamed to the heavens naked as the day he was born or dropped to his knees to thank a pretend moon-deity each time it got dark? But it bugged her. Big time.

  “The legend crap?”

  He’d gone still again, the way he had in the cabin, as if no part of his body moved at all. Even his heart.

  “Forget it, Beaux. Drop to your knees, worship the moon, howl, change your eyes at will. Pretend you’re living in a pre-technological society in which you can’t accidently be caught on film at any minute shifting into your four legged persona. Do whatever you want.”

  She struggled to get out of his grip, only he didn’t let her loose.

  “You sound exactly like Cyrus right now. If I wanted to talk to your brother, I would pick up the phone. I don’t need you channeling his particular brand of denial.”

  “Denial.”

  She tried to kick him and he moved his leg until it was between her legs, essentially pinning her in place.

  “Which one of you seems more that way? You and your dropping to the ground or Cyrus who at least lives in the world?”

  “His version of it.
And, frankly, if his is the true way, I don’t want to exist within the confines. Genetic mutations. The explanations, it’s what they all say, how your brothers and his cronies all justify what happens to us. Let me ask you something. Do you see other shifters running around? Lots of squirrels turning into men and then back again? Let the humans have their mutations. I have the Moon, and I know our deity loves us.”

  He dropped her.

  “Because I can feel it,” he continued. “And I don’t need any proof other than the fact that you’re alive and screaming at me right now.”

  She opened and closed her mouth. How did she answer the declaration? When she didn’t respond, he sighed loudly. Beaux dug into his pocket and pulled something out. He handed it to her, and, as her fingers closed around the object, she didn’t immediately recognize what she saw.

  It took her tired mind a few seconds to adjust. A small female werewolf necklace, a totem really. It had been in her family for generations, except for the brief time Travis Michaels, the Alpha of Philadelphia had possessed it. His mate had turned it back over to Cyrus who had given it to his mate, Betsy, when he found her. Eventually, the thing had made its way to Lake.

  Tears clogged her vision. She’d never wanted the damn thing. It reminded her too much of her mother and grandmother. True Healers, who weren’t always screwing up and getting people killed or fixing the latency of future Alpha Mates without permission. She’d been wearing it the day she’d been taken by the True Believers, and somewhere along the way they had ripped it off her neck.

  She’d never thought to see it again.

  “Where did you get this?”

  “The Alpha of Napa found it. Hayden Chaucer. It’s one of the ways I tracked you. I’m glad he got it back. Clearly, it means something to you because of the way it speaks to our genetic mutations.”

  With that barb, he let her go and stepped away. Silently, he dropped to his knees once more and closed his eyes. With his head bent in gratitude, he ignored her presence completely.

  She stared down at the totem she held, not sure if she wanted to embrace it like the blanket she had clutched when she’d been a child or if it wouldn’t somehow be more satisfying to hurl it straight at Beaux’s head.

  Her fingers tingled. What is the matter with me?

  “Doesn’t it bother you?” She shouted at his unmoving figure. “Our entire creation myth comes from rape. You do recognize the significance don’t you? It’s basically a ‘don’t go into the woods alone little girl’ warning. If you’re too pretty, they’ll rape you, assault you, and leave you to die. And then the only way you’ll survive the night is if some wolves beg the Moon to be with you. Did anyone ever ask Lily if she wanted to be with the wolves? Maybe she would have preferred not to be a werewolf.”

  The story had bothered her since she was a child. The woman on the totem, Lily, the mother of all werewolves, had been minding her business. Beautiful, smart, and poor she had gone into the woods to gather berries for her mother. Or maybe she’d been collecting sticks. The problem with oral history was it changed over time. Maybe Lily had gone into the woods for something entirely different.

  Whatever her reasons, the men of the town who lusted after her followed her, then raped her, beat her, and left her to die alone in the dirt. A pack of wolves had seen the whole thing. The Alpha, so overcome with her beauty—with the tragedy he saw before him—begged the Moon for her life, to make it so he could be with her. If legend was to be believed, his whole pack became werewolves as well as Lily. From the mating of Lily and the Alpha, all future leaders had been born. They shared his blood, which was why Alphas sometimes called each other cousin. Lily’s blood flowed through them all.

  Beaux’s eyes opened, and he stared at her in the darkness. “I think it’s a love story.”

  She snorted. “You would.”

  He stood, and she forgot to breathe. Something about Beaux in the moonlight made him so much more virile, powerful…sexual. Lake wasn’t in heat, even if such a thing could happen to her anymore, and she wanted him still. Her need for him was so great. He had to know; he had to smell it. Would he say something?

  Nostrils flared, he stepped toward her. “He loved Lily.”

  Were they still talking about the myth? Her brain had shut down when he stood up. Could she still form words?

  “I’m sure he did—”

  “No,” he interrupted her. “I don’t think you get it. He didn’t casually love her. She was his True Mate. He killed the people who harmed her, as was his right, and he loved her not despite what had happened to her, but because of it. He loved every single thing about her.”

  She let out the breath she held. “And how do you know this? I don’t recall ever hearing anything more than they lived happily ever after.”

  Beaux smiled, pressing a hand on her cheek. “Because I know.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Whatever.”

  “I tried, you know? I did attempt to be like you. Gave it a go for a long time. After Lucian kicked me out of his Alpha training program for being too traditional, I made huge attempts to pretend to be human. Lived in Ohio. Got a job teaching. Had a mortgage. Cleaned the pool in my backyard during the summer. Planned vacations with my mate.”

  “Wait.” She lifted her hand up to stop his speech. “Your what?”

  “Which part was confusing?”

  “The part about you having a mate.” She stuttered. Her mouth didn’t seem to want to work. “Not that I care. Maybe you have a thousand women loving you. Do whatever you want.”

  Anger surged through her veins, and her breathing kicked up. How dare he have someone else and still make a play like he wanted her? How did his having another mate even work? Weren’t they supposed to be True Mates? Fated for one another?

  Didn’t he believe in all of his own mumbo-jumbo? Wasn’t that why he had been kneeling in the snow?

  “I didn’t realize you didn’t know.”

  “How would I know?”

  Really, she’d had enough. She turned on her heel and then marched toward the house. A mate? He had a mate? What the hell was going on here?

  “She died ten years ago.”

  She froze in place. Her heart turned over.

  Of course she had. Why had she thought anything else? There were horrible old wives tales about wolves who chose not to wait for their True Mates, taking partners, Mates, just not of the True kind, and then eventually finding their fated partner. The stories were cautionary lessons. Inevitably, one half of the pair ended up dead or destined to live alone without his or her true love. Wolves should wait for True Mates. Behavior modification stories meant to teach proper decorum to werewolves.

  She didn’t know anyone who’d found their blessed union after mating. Not in real life. Fate seemed to not give the already-mated a True Mate. There were probably chemical reasons for the whole thing. Hormones.

  She needed to say something. He had seen right through her reaction, and, if she had asked instead of freaking out, she wouldn’t be so uncomfortable now.

  “I’m so sorry about her death, Beaux. Truly.”

  Turning around, she looked at him standing in the moonlight. How was it he suddenly looked ten years older? And what did it mean she both did and did not feel awful his mate had died?

  When had she gotten so fucked up?

  Chapter Five

  When Beaux didn’t know what to do in life, he made scrambled eggs. It had been his mother’s solution to most of life’s tragedies. Of course, he now associated eating the meal with difficult times. It wasn’t so much comfort that had him pulling out the pan to start the dish, but more an acknowledgment things had gone down a rough path and he needed to focus on what to do next.

  Lake sipped at some coffee and stared into the night. He poked at the eggs while he cooked them and watched her out of the side of his eyes. Was her silence better than continuing a conversation they clearly needed to have, but which would only end up in more yelling?

  “I assume
d Cyrus would have told you I used to be mated.”

  As he said the words, he hoped she wasn’t about to let loose another tirade. Lake was a sight to behold when she was in a temper—her cheeks red, her eyes narrowed, her breasts heaving—and he certainly preferred angry Lake to the sad version of her—though he wouldn’t mind being able to get to know his True Mate without her being in a temper all the time.

  His pack would never believe the nasty things that had come out of his mouth over the last twenty-four hours. For the most part, he was considered to be calm and collected.

  Lake Fennell made him lose his cool more than anyone he had ever met, and he had encountered some real assholes over the years.

  “If Cyrus knew you were mated he didn’t mention it to me. We didn’t talk about you much when I went back to Manhattan with him. Some early remarks about you holding onto the past. Then not much after that.”

  He finished making the eggs, and, after dumping the dirty dishes in the sink to do later, he brought a plate of the eggs over to her.

  “Eat this.”

  She eyed the food before eating some. He loved to watch her mouth form an O around the fork. His mouth watered, and not because he was hungry for food. What would those red lips feel like on other parts of his body?

  He sat down next to her. “Is there anything you want to ask me about her? About Sara?”

  Lake dropped her fork. “No.”

  “Really?”

  She pointed her finger at him.

  “If you tell me you can smell my interest in knowing more about your mate I will throw something at you.”

  He held up his hands. With someone else, he might think they were spouting off, but with Lake, he suspected he might end up wearing the eggs. “I surrender.”

  She sighed dramatically. He’d defused her temper, which had been the point.

  “How did she die?”

  He’d thought she would really want to know about that.

  “She was shot by hunters during a full-moon run. Year by year, it got harder and harder to keep the humans off what limited running space we had.”