Vampire (Alpha Claim 8-Final Enforcement): New Adult Paranormal Romance (Vampire Alpha Claim)

by Eros, Marata

  “I am talking about losing good males because of your whim.”

  Insulting. “I'm not whimsical,” I huff. My arms stiffen, hands becoming fists and the blanket floats down around me.

  He leans in, subtly smelling my neck and I begin to melt, wanting more of what we shared.

  Then I remember he's being a bully.

  “So I leave and they what, attack me?”

  Conrick drops his arms and whirls, stalking away from me. “No,” he comments to the wall, his back still facing me. “We do not, for the trillionth time, harm females.” He turns, only the profile of his face illuminated. “However, we will kill each other for a chance of a pureblood mate.”

  I don't want to be responsible for these guys beating the stuffing out of each other.

  I don't want to admit how great it felt to wake up warm and safe for the first time ever beside Conrick. I don't want to think about Murphy and how he made me feel for those moments beside me.

  I can't.

  “Where's Toby?” I ask instead, switching gears.

  Conrick's lips curl. “He sleeps in the adjunct room.” He tilts his head to the right, shoulder length hair sliding over his upper chest.

  Rotating slowly, I direct my attention to where he indicated. Another door, smaller than the one behind me, sits in the center of the stone wall.

  I slowly walk to it.

  The handle is a hand-forged bar and hook system. I depress a thumb-shaped divot and the lever pops up, releasing from the hook that held it.

  Silently, the doors swings open.

  A small still figure lays underneath a pile of ecru-colored natural fiber blankets. An iron bedframe, clearly handmade, holds a long, narrow mattress.

  A solid wood dresser stands at attention at the other side of the small room and a matching wardrobe looms opposite. Beside his bed is a tiny nightstand with a single inset cabinet door, seamlessly sitting within the small wooden chest, flush with its surroundings.

  A pulse-activated kerosene lamp glows at its lowest setting, barely illuminating his sweet face. A hand woven, brightly colored rug anchors the center of the tight space.

  I cover my mouth as silent tears course down my face.

  Toby's safe. I can't deny that.

  My greatest wish is to have this little boy cared for. For him to live without the fear of the Freds of this world.

  I feel Conrick's presence behind me.

  “He's safe,” I say softly and mostly to myself.

  “Yes,” he replies simply, feeling the heat of his proximity at my back, though he doesn't reach out, doesn't touch me.

  I speak into the deep quiet of the room. “If I don't choose you, will you kick me out of here?” I don't want Toby to go back to his life of a mom who doesn't care and the future Freds.

  If I'm honest with myself—I don't want to go back either. But I'm not some whore. Bought and paid for because I have some quirky DNA.

  “Release you so that you can be harmed by the Mutables? Changed into a common vampire—no, I don't think we'll ʻkick you outʼ.” His full lips twitch and I fight not to reach out and touch them.

  I move away from the door, softly shutting it and turn to Conrick.

  I look way up, glad that he's not in gorillan form or whatever it is. Missing him that way too.

  “So I can walk out this door,” I point to the other door that leads out of his bedroom, “and take my chances, but Toby can remain here safe.” I don't want to leave any room for doubt. An assurance of his safety is important.

  Conrick gives a solemn nod, but I can tell it's costing him bigtime to not verbalize all the emotions I see swirling over his strong face.

  “And you.”

  Okay. I move to the bed and carefully fold the blanket. Conrick doesn't stop me. Follow me. Speak.

  I take deliberate steps to the door. The handle's cool to the touch. I keep my thumb on the latch so long it heats underneath my flesh.

  Finally, I press down and the lever lifts, releasing from the hook, and I walk out into the dim corridor.

  I expect ten First Species to be waiting for me, ready to pounce.

  It's empty of anyone.

  I turn around to say goodbye to Conrick—I owe him that.

  The door is already shut.

  Chapter 8

  Murphy

  I blink my eyes open.

  A pair of bloodshot eyes gaze down at me. A solid boot connects with my side.

  “Wake up, fella.”

  A stream of brown liquid shoots over my head, smacking its target of inside the sink loosely.

  “What?” I croak, licking my lips. I try again. “Who are you?”

  He smiles and I notice his lovely mouth is missing some teeth.

  “Rest stop, moron. You're taking a snooze right where folks have to drain the lizard.”

  I blink.

  His foot gives a short, painful kick to my still-healing gut. Quicker than a snake, my hand shoots out, capturing his fat cankle and jerk his foot.

  He lands with a crash. His head hitting the tiled bathroom floor once with a crack and bouncing a second time.

  “Oww—eee!” he screeches.

  I sit up, grimacing at the pain in my side. Need blood. Swiveling around I see that dusk has settled. My hair sticks to one side of my head.

  The filth of the place has oozed and subsequently dried my normally clean strands into a state of hardened planking.

  We've lost a good bit of time getting to Grace Cline. My exhale is rough, and my mouth tastes like an animal crawled in there and died.

  The human groans beside me and I give him a sour face. Wanker.

  “You didn't have to do that,” he says sullenly, rubbing his small cranium.

  I stand, looking down on him. His beer belly bulges over the top of his belt buckle. The figure on the large square piece of metal is commonly referred to as “silver naked lady.”

  Classy gent. As though a handsome specimen like him could ever get a woman of that caliber.

  Unfortunately, I am stuck in this stinking bathroom with a real live human dredge until full dark.

  My vampire senses announce that darkness is approximately another eleven minutes away.

  Ticktock.

  My holographic swings from underneath my ruined leather jacket and the dolt's eyes grow big.

  “You're an enforcer!” he squeaks.

  I roll my eyes as my response and pace the bathroom. I'm going to rip that prehistoric's dick off when I get my hands on him. He played us for fools. Simpering about his lot.

  Gay.

  Rejected and having to serve in the role of subterfuge within the Mutables ranks.

  Goring Mollie because he tripped into her? Not likely. It's far more likely he gored her and made up the entire bit.

  Bollocks.

  I fold my hands on my hips, resisting the urge to touch my hair. Eyeing up the pay-by-the credit shower, I decide I'll spend my remaining minutes until full dark getting clean.

  I strip as I move, tossing my clothes across the swinging door.

  “You're getting nekkid!” Red Neck screams, wallowing his girth around on the floor in a lame attempt to stand.

  “Yes,” I remark smoothly. “I am in desperate need of a proper cleaning.”

  When I wear only what the good Lord gave me, I step inside the germy shower and press my thumb to the dock.

  Instantly it glows green, the passive rectangle of glass shows a fine web of fissures gliding across its surface. However, it's not enough to worry about. My name still appears inside all that black.

  Approved, Enforcer Murphy.

  Cranking the hot water on I stand beneath the spray and turn, repeating the process of a thumb tap for the shampoo and soap dispensers. This will set me back a handy bit of credits.

  Not that I give a ripe fuck, feeling clean is a gift.

  My astute hearing signals the fat trucker's exit and I crank the water off and step out. I quickly dress, using my clothes as both covering
and towel.

  Pressing my hands against the door, I notice the skin on the top of my hands is sloughing off from the sizzle I received when the Mammoth Prick toted me to the loo.

  Nevermind that he saved me by holing me up in this disgusting place.

  Five, four, three, two—one! I swing open the door and soft darkness assails me, a stripe of light winking out at the horizon.

  Immediately, I spot the trucker and beeline for him.

  He sees me coming and pinwheels backward. I use vampiric speed, latching on to his fat arm and hurling him behind me. He lands on the grass like a misguided tumbleweed.

  The car door is open on his big semi and the first grin of this debauched day—or night, rather—slides across my face.

  I head to the lady's room and slap open the door. The knob pins the cheap steel in place. I turn around and see the knob buried in the cement block and chuckle.

  I scan the dim interior for Mollie. Someone is relieving her of her belongings.

  Wide male eyes hit mine in fear.

  “Got you, mate,” I say with soft malice.

  Lots of ne'er-do-wells galavanting around town.

  I stalk to him, take a handful of acid washed denim and heave him into the nearest loo.

  Face first.

  Nicely done. A satisfied smirk lifts my lips . I then head in his direction, dump my hand on his greasy locks and depress the lever of the commode with a well-placed boot.

  “Argh!” he screams like a drowning pirate.

  I grin. Finally, when his attitude has been properly subdued I slide the lock to engaged with a might more enthusiasm then necessary and move to Mollie.

  She blinks up at me, drowsy. “I feel like ass.” Mollie smacks her lips, obviously hating what her mouth feels like.

  “Nothing that a pint of blood won't cure, love.”

  We look to the man with his head in the commode.

  “Nooooo,” she moans. “I don't want to drink from him. He was robbing me.”

  “And you were too knackered to stop him.” I raise my eyebrows. “Never fear, Murphy is here.”

  I wink.

  She glares.

  “We were at a rest stop,” I comment as they are known to be the most unsafe establishments around.

  Mollie folds her arms, still flat on her back. “And now he's in the toilet.”

  “Never turn down a free bite, that's my motto.”

  “Among other things,” she mutters.

  Too true.

  I walk over to the door that holds the pathetic inside and yank it open. It protests with a shriek, hanging off the hinges in a lopsided funk of metal.

  Hauling the gent out by the back of his skin-tight denims, I turn, dumping him at the floor at Mollie's feet.

  She sits up like a plank and hisses at him.

  “Holy shit! A vamp—listen—I was just a little down on my luck...”

  I swirl a finger around in the air. “Boring, seems epidemic. First the trucker, now this blighter.”

  He folds his hands as though in prayer, lacing his fingers together and I notice toilet water drips down his nose and lands between his spread legs.

  Mollie's drooling. Poor lamb can't close her mouth for the fangs.

  She moves like lightning, gripping his arm and turning it over in a motion too quick for this unlucky chap to track.

  Mollie strikes with clean precision, moving right through his clothing to the source.

  He bellows and I give him a love tap to the jaw.

  Fella slumps and Mollie feeds.

  Excellent. Nothing like a great appetite to plow through all those pesky moral dilemmas that crop up.

  I tap her on the shoulder when he begins to lose color. “Mollie, time to beg off.”

  She growls, her eyes rolling up to mine with a savage expression.

  Very well. I pinch the bridge of her nose and force thrall behind my command. “Release him.”

  She dumps his arm and hisses at me.

  “Hungry,” she gurgles through a mouthful of blood.

  “Right. And if you take his life for your fine meal, magistrate or no, there will be repercussions.” I tap my temple.

  Her crazed eyes gradually fill with the sense and sarcasm we've all come to know and love.

  Catching the rim of the sink, Mollie hoists herself to a standing position. “Where is that prehistoric prick.” She licks her lips while she asks.

  I give a rough exhale, pushing my hair back and securing it with an elastic tie. “Bugger shoved off, probably about to Grace's location as we speak. Got a good head start.”

  Mollie's wheels clearly turn, and she gives a second glance at the hapless thief at our feet. He's looking a bit chalky. “No more blood.”

  “Dick,” she comments, toeing him with her black boot.

  “He will have a crushing headache when he wakes up,” I say as consolation.

  Mollie snorts then her face grows serious. “How do we get to Grace Cline before Jac the Mammoth does.”

  I capture my chin, giving her words some thought. “He's slow.”

  Mollie rolls her eyes. “Yes, duh. But he was fast enough to tranq us. I've never misjudged so badly. I totally bought his sob story.”

  I shake my head. “I don't think we ʻbought anythingʼ. I believe the boy was telling the truth. He just left out the best bits.”

  “Fantastic,” Mollie says sullenly. “The parts where he was willing to subdue two enforcers to get at a female. A female he can never have.”

  “Shifters are an odd lot.”

  Mollie washes her hands, looks in the mirror for over a minute.

  When her lip begins to tremble, I take her hand. “You are still Mollie.”

  She rapidly nods. “But I don't look the same.” Her chin tucks. “I'm not the same.”

  I take her hand, leading Mollie outside. Notice the trucker is out cold. I also note the poor gorgeous I fed off has vanished.

  Marvelous.

  My eyes shift to the truck and I smile.

  Mollie catches the direction of my attention. “You're not thinking of taking that dude's truck.”

  I slowly nod. “He was playing football with my body in the loo. I'm very much inclined to accept his unknowing generosity.”

  “Murphy—no. That's above and beyond. Even for you.”

  I nod happily. Fuck me once, shame on you. Fuck me twice, shame on me.

  “We can outrun the mammoth,” I say. “But he's got such a lead and you're a newbie vamp. The trot to where I suspect Grace is being held is too far.”

  She glowers. “You don't have pulse command for his vehicle,” Mollie states the obvious.

  “I'll override that nonsense.” I'm already striding to the vehicle.

  Mollie trots after me. “Do you know how to drive one of these rigs?”

  “Yes, daddy was a trucker.”

  I pop in the cab, grimacing at the smell, and Mollie unlocks the passenger side and slides in.

  Her nose scrunches. “Gross.”

  “Ah-huh,” I say, pulsing the engine on. The letters glow.

  “Look at that.”

  My name appears on the pulse glass locking dock.

  Approved, Enforcer Murphy .

  “Why do you get approved?”

  I give her a surprised look. “Don't you know—when Brain Impulse Technology was approved, enforcers nationwide gained access to anything that was keyed before.”

  “Handy,” Mollie laughs. “I guess I should read the pulse-memorandums.

  “Quite,” I say and pull out of the rest area.

  “We're still going to get our heinie's paddled.”

  I shiver. “If we could be so lucky.”

  Mollie slaps me and I spoil her with a grin.

  I keep the windows down so I can scent Grace.

  The mammoth.

  But I didn't need to. Her blood still calls to mine. That summons is not something I can ignore.

  Even if I know I might be driving an eighteen-wheeler t
o my true death.

  Chapter 9

  Jac

  Thank God I'm in full form. Of course, when one's a woolly mammoth, one can't exactly blend .

  I've spent the last hour muttering to myself. Which really, is just a series of snorts and snuffles.

  Trees under fifty years old have succumbed to my girth, grabbing at my thick coat as I lumber past.

  Buffalo scatter with a honking shout from my mouth, their wild eyes showing the whites.

  My head dips as I make my way to the scent of the woman.

  I'm not cut out for this job and though I've tried valiantly to not be an Eeyore about it, I still get pissed because of the selection.

  Now I'm in hot fucking water with everyone, including Noah. I lost Talyn last year to that fucker, Drake—and the Lycan, Merck. I can't lose another. My Alpha needs a mate and Grace Cline is the perfect subject.

  My nose isn't as good as some prehistorics but we're still top dog.

  Excepting the First Species.

  I mope. Not looking forward tangling with that group. They keep to themselves. But if they made an appearance, and boy—did they—then they've got a female pureblood First Species.

  The news story was splashed all over pulsevision. The mundanes are screaming bigfoot sighting and every paranormal alive is looking over their shoulder.

  There is no way that any of the lessers want to engage shape-shifting gigantic gorilla vampires. No.

  Bad plan.

  But here I tromp, where all the smart shifters aren't.

  Wish I hadn't tranq'd the enforcers. That'll come back to bite me on the ass too. Maybe me lying about being gay too. The vamps are too new to understand the life expectancy of a gay shifter. I shudder. Short. All shifters groups are about breeding. If you choose not to be in the breeding loop, you're expendable. Period.

  I do feel bad about goring the female. Harming her—even accidentally—goes against everything we are. If there isn't offspring in the next decade, it'll be the final nail in the coffin. We need females.

  I need a female.

  But there is nobody for me. And I'm low guy on the totem pole. Saber tooth tiger and dragon trumps woolly mammoth. I'm not like that fucked up donkey Mutable, but I'm a step above.

  If I'd just won a few dominance battles, I wouldn't be here right now.