Promising Peter (Bad Boy Alphas) (Shrew & Company Book 6)

by Holley Trent

  “You’ve heard of this happening before?”

  Father grunted again.

  “And what was the outcome?”

  “I’ve heard of a few instances of the sickness, and witnessed it once. The outcome depends on the Bear,” Father said.

  “Meaning what? How strong they are? Or how much they want to wake?”

  “Nothing is ever that simple. The reasons they wake up or don’t are as complicated as the reasons they sleep in the first place.”

  “You’re not giving me enough information.”

  “I know you’re frustrated, but you have me on the spot right now. I’m pulling records and trying to make a diagnosis by phone. You’re only hearing my voice. You’re not seeing what I’m doing.”

  Peter pinched the bridge of his nose and paced a little more. “Fine. Anything you can tell me. Seeing her like this…”

  “Yes, I’m sure what you feel is most unpleasant. Ah. I found something in my notebook.”

  “What does it say?”

  “My notes are cryptic. The last time I encountered this sort of phenomenon was several years ago. I think I meant to follow up on gathering data and the task slipped through the cracks. My hypothesis at that time, based on the instances of this I’d heard of, was that there was some sort of conflict between the person and their beast.”

  “What?” Peter settled onto the sofa’s middle cushion in front of Andrea.

  “There’s an incompatibility. Most of the time, our animal halves are simply the other side of the coin that is our more human personality. They’re nuances of the same thing. When the two halves disagree, usually they’re just looking at an issue from different directions.”

  “But the two sides generally reconcile. They negotiate.”

  “Yes. I’m not certain that’s the case with every shifter, however. My belief is that there are some whose inner beasts are disconnected and disinterested in conciliation. I can’t see where there’d be any evolutionary usefulness to such a thing. The incongruity would make the shifter less able to judge situations.”

  “That sounds like Andrea.”

  “How so?”

  “Father, if you’d spent any time around her, you’d know I’m speaking the truth. She’s so tentative about everything. Frightened of everything, and she shouldn’t be. Even if the Ridge Bears are an overall peaceful group, it doesn’t make sense for her brother to be so aggressive and for her to be…”

  “What?”

  Peter let out a breath and lifted her onto his lap. “She may as well be human.”

  “Would you care if she were?”

  Peter didn’t have to think. He didn’t care if she were a Bear or not a Bear. He’d love her anyway and take care of her. He didn’t see how anything would change. Maybe some things would even be easier if she weren’t one. He passed the pad of his thumb over her soft eyebrows and massaged her temple. “No. I wouldn’t care.”

  “Is that the mating fever talking or is my rational son the one holding the phone?”

  “I’m rational enough. My bear is quiet for the moment. He’s not pushing me to do anything because he doesn’t have an instinct for this.”

  “Good.”

  “Is she going to wake? Tell me what to do.”

  “If what’s wrong with her is what I’ve suggested, then what occurred was a type of shorting out. Like circuits being overloaded. Too many impulses firing through the same brain, many of which aren’t complementary.”

  “So what does she need? Time to reboot? Is there some magic for that?”

  “Time, yes. Magic? I don’t know about that, but there are probably some voices that could get through to her better than others. Anyhow, even if she gets up again, there’s a chance this situation may reoccur. As long as her inner bear is out of sync—”

  “So, what, she needs to get rid of the bear? Can that be done?”

  “Yes,” Father answered slowly.

  “Why the hesitance?”

  “Because I know my son, and I fear the ritual would be one you would have performed on her without her consent because you want her awake.”

  “I—” Peter closed his mouth on his own objection. As much as he wanted to believe he’d do the noble thing and wait for her to wake, he was frightened that she wouldn’t.

  “And that may not even be her problem,” Father said. “We shouldn’t be so hasty to prescribe rituals that may turn out to not be magic bullets.”

  “I have to wait until she wakes, then?”

  “That would be my tactic.”

  “Tell me how to wake her. There has to be some way.”

  “All you can do is keep her comfortable and to make sure she feels safe if she happens to open her eyes for a brief moment. Perhaps when she does, she’ll open them again.”

  “When?”

  “I don’t know the answer to that. But I do think telling you that there are certain herbs that are known to suppress shapeshifter compulsions is prudent. Make a sachet and keep it near her nose. One might keep her inner bear from getting in the way of her waking.”

  “What are the herbs?”

  “I’ll email you the list. Depending on where you are, some of the items may be hard to find.”

  “Whatever. I’ll drive all over the state if I need to.” He laughed dryly. “Maybe she’ll even move while I’m gone.”

  “I’ll send you the list now.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Peter?”

  “Yes?”

  “Don’t do anything stupid.” Father disconnected.

  Peter tossed his phone onto the coffee table and waited for an email notification beep. He wasn’t going to make that promise, not even to himself.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Drea could hear him—hear Peter. His voice, tinged with worry.

  There was something wrong with her, and she couldn’t understand what. She was only getting half of what he was saying. She couldn’t lift her eyelids to discern her whereabouts or even tell what her body was doing at the moment.

  She felt nothing. Saw nothing.

  She could only hear, and catch the occasional whiff of his familiar scent—now spiked with stress hormones. Her nose wasn’t great, but she could smell that much. He must have been very close.

  He’s stressed because of me.

  As much as she wanted to open her eyes and shout, “I’m fine,” she couldn’t. She didn’t know how to trigger the movements or to get her brain to register the impulses.

  She felt as if someone had stepped on a water hose and put a stopper in the flow.

  Or a bear had put itself between her thoughts and her ability to enact them—lying in front of a metaphorical door it wanted to block.

  Yes. The bear.

  The bear was quiet, but present. Spiteful and unyielding.

  Why? Why don’t you move?

  Just die, the bear said. Maybe I’ll get reincarnated into a body that isn’t so useless.

  Drea would have gasped if she’d had the means to do so. Instead, she did the mental equivalent of curling into a ball and rocking.

  She didn’t know what else to do.

  There was nothing to do.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  If Peter had received a traditional education, he might have flunked out of the arts and crafts portion.

  Various roots, powders, and herbs awaiting disposal were scattered across the cluttered kitchen table. He’d hastily measured them into a sachet and tied the gauzy fabric off, not caring about the mess or the cost he’d paid to acquire the items. If the mixture worked, it’d be worth every penny.

  He hadn’t had to do as much driving around as his father had suggested, but only because Peter knew the weird locals. There were shops catering to arcana. To witchcraft and to voodoo. Voodooiennes always had the best stock, so he’d gone to see his old associate San. She’d given him an odd, sideways look when he’d pushed the shopping list across the counter to her.

  “What you doin’ with that mess?” she’
d asked.

  “Why does my business concern you?” he’d returned.

  “Potent combination.”

  “I fucking hope so.”

  “What are you doin’ with it?”

  “Are you not going to give the shit to me unless I tell you?”

  “No.” San had wrapped up the herbs and punched the prices into her ancient cash register. “I’ll make the sale anyway. I just want to discourage you, if I can, from using these herbs as part of some offensive strategy. Black magic’s not worth the spiritual payback you’ll reap.”

  Peter had rubbed his chin contemplatively and filed that information away for later. That combination of herbs might be exactly what a certain alpha Bear needed to neutralize hostile aggressors.

  “Don’t stress about me using them for that,” he’d told San. “They’re for medicinal purposes only.”

  “Maybe you’ll tell me about what you’re up to later as a professional courtesy.” She’d thrust the bag at him and snatched his cash.

  “Maybe,” he’d demurred. Staying on San’s good side was smart business. Also, he truly respected the woman. Sharing knowledge helped them both.

  Peter tucked the sachet inside the case of one of the bed pillows, fixed the sheets, and then transferred Andrea to the bed.

  He dressed her for warmth in one of his button-up shirts and pulled the covers up over her.

  He adjusted the pillow to ensure her nose was near the sachet, and then went to force the window open for air. The apartment was in an old building, and the rooms got stale quickly. He figured a bit of fresh air would probably do both of them some good.

  He settled atop the bed as close to her as he could get with his computer atop his lap and, with a groan, opened his email.

  There were seven messages from Tamara. He deleted the earliest six and opened the seventh.

  I want to talk to Drea. I want to hear her voice and have her tell me that she’s fine. Let me talk to her and I’ll call off the hunt.

  He rolled his eyes, and replied:

  You should call off the hunt anyway. You’re wasting your energy looking for me. You know you won’t find me soon. Divert your energy to other things. Andrea will get in touch when she is able to.

  He erased that last line and typed instead, Andrea will get in touch again when she wants to.

  He attached some information he’d uncovered about Gene’s lieutenants to the message, closed the correspondence with “:-),” and clicked send.

  For a while, he worked quietly, checking surveillance images he’d had some of his fellow degenerates pull, and looking for patterns in the comings and goings of Gene’s remaining lieutenants. Some were easier to follow and watch than others because they simply weren’t suitable for the job. They weren’t careful. Peter sometimes thought that they wanted to be caught so they didn’t have to do the work anymore. Not everyone in Gene’s entourage had volunteered to be in the inner circle. Bryan was the perfect example of that. He’d gone along with the status quo until one year prior, but he’d reached his breaking point after Gene had tossed him and Drea to a traveling freak show. Bryan had temporarily left the clan and stirred up a shitstorm on his way out.

  There was one lieutenant Peter was fairly sure Bryan or the Shrews could lure away from Gene. Gene might not have known, but Ralph had a girlfriend and two little kids he’d been trying to get home to. The only reason he hadn’t left already probably was because he feared leading Gene to his family. Gene wasn’t always so discriminating about whom he hurt. Little kids, old people—didn’t matter. All that mattered to him was getting his way. Typical psychopath.

  Andrea stirred slightly, moving her head a fraction of an inch and moaning quietly.

  Peter set down his computer and scooted over, scooping her up along with her pillow. He rubbed her hair and brushed his lips across her temples. “Can you hear me, sweetheart?”

  Her brow furrowed and she let out a short breath, but her eyes didn’t open.

  Maybe she’s responding to sound now. Keep talking.

  “Um…” He’d never been good at small talk. Must of the time, the people in his company would prefer that he didn’t talk at all. He had a habit of not hashing his words.

  “It’s…muggy out today,” he said. “I went out to get some things. Saw an old friend at the store. She acted like I was suspicious as hell, as usual. Gave me an idea, though.”

  He moved his hand to her hair and flattened the wisps that’d been rubbed up in sleep. Soft. That was Andrea in a nutshell, though. Soft woman, soft voice, soft words. Not the kind of woman he’d expected to end up with, but having her, he couldn’t possibly fathom wanting anyone else. She may not have been particularly ferocious, but perhaps the time had come for more level personalities to be bred back into the Bear gene pool. She’d probably make a patient mother, and with him as the father, she didn’t particularly need the fighting drive, anyway. He didn’t plan on ever leaving her side for very long.

  They needed to get her anxiety problem under control first, though, so she could gain some weight. Bear pregnancies were hard. The babies took a lot out of their mothers. Many women ended their pregnancies weighing less than when they’d started. The Bear women in Romania aggressively gained weight preemptively before conceiving knowing doing so would be so much harder once conception occurred.

  He couldn’t wait to see Andrea all rounded out and lush. The thought of her enticing swells and beckoning curves made his cock stir beneath the pillow. He’d love her any way she looked, but he’d prefer her to be a bit more durable.

  He brushed his lips across hers again. “It’s a good thing you have a desk job and aren’t driving around all day confronting people. I get stressed when you leave the office. I can’t think about anything but what sort of trouble you might get yourself into. I can’t work when I’m stressed out like that. Do you understand?”

  “Mm.”

  He leaned back a bit to see her face. “Wake up, sweetheart.”

  She didn’t make any more noise or move in the slightest bit, but still, Peter took her sound as a good sign.

  More talking. Tell her things.

  He felt stupid talking to the air, but he’d try anything for her.

  “I don’t like to talk about…how I got into the business. Tamara doesn’t really understand my work, either, but Soren and I haven’t been especially forthcoming about the ins and outs of what we do.” Peter rubbed her hair some more. He was getting used to the short crop, but he missed her shining black locks. Although he understood why she’d had to cut them, he hoped one day she’d grow them back. He wanted his children to see their mother’s crown. He’d never do anything to her to make her hate any part of herself. He could kill Gene just for having succeeded at that.

  “We kept what we were from Tamara until last year—not just us being Bears, but what we do when we’re on the road. Remember, she didn’t know she was a Bear because she can’t shift. She doesn’t have the genetic trigger.”

  He wished Andrea had been the one lacking it instead. That would have saved them both some frustration. Tamara would have made a perfectly vicious beast, and he didn’t think that only because she was his bratty little sister. She simply had the right personality. She was a fighter—fearless and resourceful, just like their parents.

  “Our father tends to stay aboveboard with his dealings because he had diplomatic connections he needed to be mindful of, but Soren and I had no such attachments. We moved around a lot when we were kids, encountered a lot of shifter groups and got to learn how they all worked. Each one is a little bit different.” He dragged his thumb across her parted lips.

  So soft.

  “All with very different kinds of leadership. Maybe you won’t believe me if I tell you this, but Bryan is one of the best.” Peter gave her a little jiggle on his lap in case she would dispute his claim. “He’s very fair. There aren’t many Bears who’d allow people like Soren and me to hang around, regardless of the fact we’re his wife’
s brothers. You put too many alpha contenders in a single group and you make a powder keg.”

  “Mm.”

  “You agree?” He gave her a squeeze. “Obviously, Soren and I don’t compete against each other except in the usual brotherly ways. And we don’t challenge Bryan because doing so would serve no good purpose. We could go anywhere and be alphas. Sometimes, there’s nothing wrong with having the shit it takes to lead and not lead. That’s better than being the leader of a clan that doesn’t want you.”

  Another little squeeze.

  “I like what’s left of your clan, in spite of how retiring everyone is,” he told her. “You care about each other, and did, even when those feelings were discouraged under Gene’s leadership. I’ve seen how giving everyone is, and so eager to mediate the pettiest of squabbles. I was at the bar with Roy last week. You know. Skinny Roy?”

  “Mm.”

  “Cracks his spine every time he sneezes too hard. That Roy. There were a couple of shit heads about to come to blows at the bar, and Roy stepped right up to them and asked what he could do to help. You should have seen the looks on their faces.”

  He looked down at the sound of Andrea’s sharp exhalation. Her laugh lines had deepened and mouth pulled into a half-smile.

  “You think that’s funny, huh? Yeah, I guess it is. The guys were so confused that they left. They probably took the fight elsewhere, but that was still better than them brawling in middle of a bar where a bunch of women and kids were having dinner. That’s why I like the clan. I’m not so fond of the idea of moving on. I hope that’s okay with you.”

  “Mm.”

  “Good.” He adjusted her atop his lap and trailed his fingers up the shell of her ear. “You should know, though…what Soren and I do, sometimes, when we’re away.”

  He didn’t want to tell her. Tamara didn’t even know the extent of their jobs. Tamara just thought they followed the almighty dollar and took whatever wet work earned them the biggest payday. That wasn’t true. Some of the people they killed, they would have killed even if they weren’t being paid. Some people just needed killing. Like Gene.