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

by Eros, Marata

  Ah, I didn't think so. But things did have a way of getting out of hand sometimes. I shook my head.

  Gramps looked unconvinced. Smart dude.

  Alex looked down at his trunks that were just barely dry, his tee not offering an ounce of warmth. It was good the night was sultry, we had true Indian summer weather without a breath wind.

  He eyed Grampsʼ boat in the water.

  And yeah, it was completely illegal. It was a million years old and had huge actual fuel jets, which he had retrofitted for natural gas. The chrome of the pipes gleamed in the firelight.

  Alex waded into the water until it came to mid-thigh, the boat a bulky shadow behind him.

  “Ah, Caleb, I'm wanting to know what's going to happen to my baby,” Gramps said.

  “Just watch, Gramps.”

  “You're gonna shit a brick on this,” Jonesy said.

  “Language, young man,” Gramps said automatically, not removing his gaze from his boat.

  Jonesy sighed. Foiled again.

  John smiled because Jonesy was fearless. Jonesy would have said the same thing in front of the President.

  Alex scooped the side of the boat to him and untethered the ropes from the front and back cleats. He leaned forward, his torso just skimming the cold lake water. Sliding his arm completely under the back end of the boat, only his shoulder showing, he lifted the back end totally out of the water, the drips cascading to his body and running down his head, then neck, soaking the tee he wore. He slid the rest of his body under the boat.

  Gramps came on board. “Hey, hey, that's not safe—”

  Alex grinned, swinging his opposite arm to the front end and stood, balancing the boat while he stood underneath it in the middle, the sound of lake water splashing like rain all around him.

  “Holy shit,” Gramps whispered.

  Jonesy was nodding. “See, what did I tell ya?”

  We knew that Alex had the super-human strength but... holy crow.

  “ Damn ,” Bry said. “That's impressive as hell!”

  “I think maybe Bry just joined group one,” Tiff commented dryly.

  I agreed, looking at the ridiculously undersized, nerdy Alex. The boat levitating above him was an absolute unreal sight.

  “Okay,” Gramps said, “Put her down, nice and gentle, sir.”

  Alex lowered the boat until he was underwater, then swam out from underneath it, his tee plastered to his skin, his ribs in stark relief.

  Bry waited until Alex was out of the water, and gave him the damn great to know ya guy clap. Alex looked like he'd won the lottery.

  Gramps grinned. “Now that was...”

  “Righteous,” Jonesy said, pumping his fist.

  “Exceptional,” Gramps finished, smiling slightly at the J-Man.

  Alex's teeth started chattering, and Gramps physically pushed him over to the fire. “Use your head, boy, I know you've got more than rocks rollinʼ around in that noggin.”

  Alex was still glowing from having an arguably cool ability. Lots of guys would kill for that.

  Gramps stretched, reaching around to put a palm on his lower back. “About time to turn in, I think.”

  John looked at him. “You didn't do too bad with Hamilton today, Mac.”

  Gramps waggled his brows. “Yup, his brand of logic wasn't going to work on my property.”

  “Where would it work?” Bry asked.

  Gramps folded his arms across his chest, palming his chin. Finally, after a full minute he said, “Nowhere.”

  We laughed.

  Gramps put dirt over the fire, squelching the flame into ash, the night's blackness edging in around us like ink.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  I had a fat weekend at Gramps and my ass had dragged down my stairs to the kitchen table then out the door to school. Onyx gave me the cold shoulder cuz I hadn't towed him along to Grampsʼ.

  Onyx didn't even stand by the window like usual.

  I sighed. It was damn Monday all day long and into the night.

  Of course, I had AFTD class first period and no one I knew except Tiff was in there. She was studiously decimating her nails as Smith droned on about the dead.

  Ceci Cline was staring at me which was creeping me out. I wondered if she knew that Carson and the goons had planned on jumping me. I was so lucky Clyde had showed up. At least their whole group had a little vacation from school.

  That rocked.

  Suspension forever for all I gave a shit. Jerkwads.

  “Now,” Smith lectured, “I heard there was an incident of violence perpetuated against you this weekend, Caleb.”

  Huh? Oh, yeah. “Ah, yeah, some jerks tried to beat the crap out of me.”

  Smith's eyes got wide at my blunt description and Ceci looked down at her shoes.

  Hell yeah , she'd known, the bitch. Tiff had put it together and was giving her the Tiff Look. Of course the merit of Tiff was— as a girl— she could hand Ceci her ass, and I could watch.

  A smile spread over my face as I fantasized.

  “Mr. Hart?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I asked you a question.”

  I gave him a blank face.

  He sighed, running a hand through his hair, which reminded me of my dad, all the ends sticking up wildly.

  “I was saying we could learn much about your zombie showing up.”

  I shrugged. “I have nothing to tell. I mean—Clyde just showed up, I hadn't ʻcalledʼ him or anything—he was just there . Corpse on the spot.” I laughed.

  Smith didn't, beginning to pace instead. Reminded me of the crazy Biology nut I'd had last year. What was his name? He'd been obsessed over bees.

  “In theory, a Cadaver-Manipulator who also possesses Life-Transference,” Smith looked at me for confirmation and I nodded, “would have a leakage problem with their gift.”

  We all looked at him, Ceci jerking up her chin defiantly.

  “In layman's terms, the dead would begin to think autonomously of the host.”

  Well that cleared it right up, thanks.

  Tiff went back to her intense fingernail exam and Ceci's eyes dropped to her desktop.

  He was losing us with the jargon.

  “Okay,” he paused, scrubbing his face, “we've got a zombie.”

  We nodded, gotcha.

  “And said-zombie is connected to a powerful AFTD, say, a five-point.”

  All eyes turned to me, granted, there was only a handful, but it still was awkward. “The host, in theory, should not need to consciously communicate to the zombie. The zombie should have a thought process that is interdependent.”

  “Okay,” Tiff said, snapping gum. “So Caleb raised Clyde.”

  “Is that the name of the zombie in question?” Smith asked.

  I nodded.

  She continued, “And he knows what needs doinʼ, even if Caleb doesn't ʻcallʼ or ʻaskʼ?”

  “Exactly.” Smith's features smoothed.

  “Caleb didn't consciously ʻcallʼ Clyde. But, due to physical proximity, coupled with extreme duress,” in my periphery vision I saw Ceci squirm around, “he had enough ʻthought processʼ of his own, to respond to the threat to the host.”

  “The host being Caleb,” a boy in the back of the class called out.

  Smith nodded. “If the host had ill intent and was also powerful, well, the result of everything could have been much different.”

  The class grew quiet, chewing on that lovely factoid.

  “There's no way to control it then? I mean, I could do like—a sleepwalk-with-the-dead parade?”

  Tiff laughed. “Nice, Caleb.”

  “Not so funny, Tiffany,” Smith responded solemnly.

  “It's Tiff, Mr. Smith.”

  Smith ignored her. “The pharmaceutical giants are even now fashioning a suppression drug that would be a broad depressant. It would negate abilities from manifesting say, in the middle of sleep.”

  I thought of how Clyde had been skulking around the garbage separator. Huh .

&
nbsp; Tiff flipped up the hood on her standard hoodie, effectively hiding her expression, which looked kinda like, screw you and the horse you rode in on.

  I stifled a laugh, hiding it in my hand like a cough. She was truly great.

  The bell shrilled and Tiff grabbed her backpack and pulse, her thumb on it and mine vibrated:

  I'm gonna commit suicide if Smith is flappinʼ his gums the whole year about this profanity-block . -TW

  Should I be offended that you don't give a ripe profanity-block about my subconscious raising an armyʼo dead. -CH

  Profanity-block - no! Who cares? I mean, seriously, if you were gonna do gnome genocide on everyone, wouldn't you have done it by now? - TW

  laughs I guess. Ya know, you were talking about magnet fetishes with Jonesy.- CH

  Cut the crap, Hart. Jones is totally dumb, not that I don't think he's a player. -TW

  Tell me what you really think! You gotta a problem with gnomes. -CH

  Everyone knows that they're never in the same place in the yard in the morning. -TW

  What the profanity-block! -CH

  It's a phenomenon. I'm sorry you're too lame to notice. NMP .-TW

  Not her problem? Huh .

  A hand landed on my shoulder, and with a thought, I put my pulse to sleep.

  Tiff glided by, her eyes landing on Smith for a fleeting second then meeting mine in a better you than me look .

  “Stay after class for a moment, Mr. Hart.”

  “I don't have that long. I've got Griswold next hour, Mr. Smith.”

  He grimaced. Apparently, she was real popular with the adults too.

  “Okay quickly then. I heard through the grapevine that you and Tiffany Weller are working in collusion with the police for the apprehension of the serial killer that's murdering the Nulls.”

  A red flag of warning hit me between the mental eyes. I suddenly wished Jade was here so she could do the whammy on this guy.

  “Yeah,” I was in the keep info from the adult mode (which always came naturally, I noticed).

  “I wanted to offer my help as an AFTD in case they need an adult in the mix.”

  Right. “Ah, thanks, but I think we have it.”

  “Will you tell Sergeant Garcia?” he asked.

  I nodded. Weirder and weirder. What were these two talking back and forth about? Supposedly the whole thing was hush-hush. I'd talk to John Smith about it, he'd tell me what was doinʼ. Garcia seemed to be on perpetual PMS-mode. I didn't want to dick with the drama.

  ****

  I could see Griswold's sour pucker from my position on the floor perfectly.

  All the teens were surrounding me in a circle. My arms burned and shook. I'd been late because Smith had wanted to talk about the investigation. Nice. So now I was doing extra push-ups and Griswold (as usual) was all about me failing.

  Which just made me not want to, of course.

  Jade was behind her making faces, which I appreciated. I was containing my expression because every ounce of me wanted to rest. I was on the seventy-ninth push up in a row. Over the summer, I had increased from forty a night in June, and I could put away seventy now.

  “Just cry Uncle, Hart and I will give you a demerit for not suiting up on time.”

  “No,” I ground out, “I can do the hundred.”

  Jade smiled.

  Jonesy fist-pumped.

  John slapped his forehead, clearly saying, stubborn swine .

  Yeah, I kinda was.

  I pushed out another ten, my arms on fire, but no snow on the mountain. My form caused Griswold to glower harder; she hated that my form rocked. Of course it did, or Gramps would have put his foot in my ass. I gave a little smile remembering his drill sergeant ways.

  “Caleb, your ass is so high you're catching snow on the mountain! Keep it straight! Elbows by your side, chest on the floor—no rest, back up. Pump it Pal! Get moving! Oh... for the love of God!

  Gramps got down next to me and pumped out the next twenty like melting butter out of the pot.

  Hell, I'd never be as strong as him.

  He saw my expression, and reading it correctly, he said, “Stronger!”

  “What?” I gasped out between a poorly executed push-up.

  “You'll be stronger than me one day.”

  Today was apparently Not The Day.

  My girlfriend's eyes were on me but for a different reason; she was so hot! I pumped out another three. I was certainly not gonna cave in front of My Woman!

  Ninety-three

  Pump-gasp-burn. Ninety-nine.

  One hundred!

  “Hmph!” Griswold made a noise in the back of her throat. “Walk it off, Hart.” She waved the clipboard at the indoor track that circled the basketball court.

  I walked it off.

  “Come on people! Show's over. Get your butts over there and do your warm-up for dodge ball.” Her voice grated on our ears.

  The sissified version of dodge ball.

  The Js gave me guy claps on the back. “I guess you could climb that fence at the dump pretty easy now, huh, Hart?” Jonesy asked.

  I nodded. Not that climbing that dumb thing was first on the list.

  My arms felt heavy with fatigue. I'd gone over my push up limit for the day. Amazing what ya could do with an audience.

  Jade came up beside me and squeezed my bicep. “Nice job there, stud.” She winked.

  I looked down at her in her super-short shorts (I was a fan), and her high-top sneakers and matching tee. Griswold's only allowance on suiting up was we had a choice of footwear. So, Jade chose the snazzy All-Stars.

  I looked down at her feet and said what I thought, “You have elf feet, Jade.”

  She looked down at her feet. “No, they're the right size for me.”

  Mine looked like surfboards next to hers. “You have huge feet but not like John,” she said, looking pointedly at The Feet that were John's.

  We looked at John who was skinnier and taller than last year and wore a size fourteen. I was only a twelve.

  Sophie said, from slightly behind us but next to Jonesy, “You know what they say about a guy's feet.”

  Actually, no.

  Tiff piped in. “They say that there is a direct relationship between feet and penis size.”

  Jonesy stopped walking. “No shit, frickinʼ Terran has a donkey dick?”

  Griswold, who was without paranormal skills of any kind still seemed to have exceptional hearing.

  “Jones, front and center.”

  “Shit,” he said dejectedly.

  “Now!” she yelled, and we all restrained ourselves from covering our ears.

  He jogged over there and she pointed to the floor. “Give me a hundred like your good friend, Hart. Seems to be a trend today with you boys. Buck up!” Her beady eyes flicked to mine before returning to Jonesy. “You had me last year, you definitely know what the deal is. Just because you're here for the first time today, Jones, doesn't mean that I'm going to be soft.”

  Yeah, we knew.

  The double doors opened and two suits came in, who I recognized immediately formula people . The one guy that had looked like he was starved and smoked (illegal) was with a stocky dude. They were part of the AP Testing brigade last year. What did they want here now?

  I didn't like it.

  Jade said, “Those are the government guys.”

  I whipped my face to stare at her. “Which ones?”

  “The Graysheets,” she whispered. “They were the ones that were messing around with your locker.” Her eyes were wide and frightened. We sure didn't need a repeat of last year.

  John, Tiff and Sophie made a loose circle around me. Then we walked over to stand behind Griswold.

  Jonesy said from the floor, “Ah, duh? Am I gonna do these or not?”

  “Stand up for now, Jones. But you owe me, fella,” Griswold said.

  “Right,” he said, obviously scheming on how to get out of it.

  Not because Jonesy couldn't do a hundred push-ups, he so could. Bu
t because she wanted him to. He was against following the rules on principle. Jonesy Principle. It was a lengthy and unspoken code that only he fully understood.

  “We need to speak with a Caleb Hart,” the scary-skinny said. He narrowed his eyes on Tiff, “and Tiffany Weller.” His eyes had shifted to me.

  Nope , still not liking it .

  Shouldn't have worried because these guys didn't get it. They were gonna have to deal with Griswold.

  “Sorry, Gents. This is my class, and more importantly, my time . You'll have to have more than desire, to interrupt my class. This is Physical Education. Get it?”

  Skinny Guy blinked.

  I kinda got the feeling that it was a first for him, being talked to like that.

  A grin broke over Jonesy's face. They were getting a taste of the Force That Was Griswold. And he wasn't going to be a push-up king just yet.

  All show of civility scattered on the wind as Skinny Guy held up some papers in his hand, folded neatly. His fingertips were stained yellowish brown with nicotine.

  She looked between the two, eyes narrowing to slivers. “You two are slow learners. Here's the deal: you leave now, and address my students on their time, with their parents in attendance. Not on our mutual time. Is that clear?”

  “Crystal,” Stocky said, flashing the piece he was packing under his jacket as Skinny made a move for Griswold.

  But she was ready. Effing-incredible.

  We watched in awe as our PE teacher, who was secretly so much more, turned her pudgy body into Skinny. She grabbed his hand, wrenching his thumb back to his wrist.

  He howled. Griswold gave a satisfied grunt and head-butted him, and he started to go down.

  Stocky leaped forward, and she said in her special voice, “Do it, and I slam the flat of my palm into your nose and the cartilage will spear your brain.”

  He hesitated, hovering between decisions.

  I was thinking Griswold might need a little help. “Alex!” I yelled.

  “Right here,” he said.

  “Show this chump the door.”

  “Okay,” Alex said.

  To which stocky replied, “Beat it, brainless. We're here for the AFTDs.” He planted his hands on his hips. He was powerfully built and low to the ground. One of those dudes you knew did wrestling and martial arts in the day—probably still did. He had a way of moving I recognized from my judo instructor.