Sought by the Alphas Complete Boxed Set: A Paranormal Romance Serial

by Carina Wilder

  “Very good,” said Ygrena, rising. “I may not see you tonight. Hallam is coming…”

  “I’ll bet he is,” said Gwynne with a wink. “And he’s probably quite pleased about it, too.”

  She left Ygrena in her room, happy to see her friend and servant looking so well. The run-in with the plague months back had weakened her, and only now was she regaining her former strength and healthy complexion. She reminded Gwynne of what it had been like to be human, to be frail and susceptible to illness. And in the process, Gwynne was filled with new gratitude for the ritual and for what it had done in creating her new, stronger form.

  But there was still vulnerability, weakness, chinks in her armour. There were risks. She was different now, but not immortal. By all accounts shifters lived much longer than the average human and aged quite slowly after coming into adulthood. But they could still succumb to mortal wounds, as she’d seen with Kapral. Their strength did not render them invincible, and Gwynne tried to remember that when she found herself caressing the bump on her belly. Inside her was a being who needed her, but who could kill her from within.

  * * *

  The Lady opened the door a few seconds after Gwynne knocked, allowing herself a broad smile which she hoped her guest could somehow see through the fabric shielding her face.

  “I’d like to know how you are,” said Gwynne as she entered the room, “but the truth is that I wanted to come ask you how I am.” She laughed. “Seems a little self-centered, but you know…”

  “Not at all. You want to know for your baby’s sake. Come, please,” said the Lady, gesturing towards a chair. “Have a seat, my dear.”

  Gwynne obeyed while her friend laid a hand on her wrist.

  “Your pulse is good,” the Lady said after a time. “Watch for changes in that, as well as anything else. Monitor your breathing, too. If you find yourself short of breath performing normal tasks—”

  “I know, I know. You’ve warned me in past.”

  “And I’ll keep warning you. The trouble with giving birth to a little creature the likes of which no one has seen is that we can’t predict what will happen, Gwynne. Even if things go smoothly until the moment when you go into labour…”

  Much as there had been a good deal of discussion about the pregnancy over the months, this was the first that the Lady had mentioned of the upcoming labour. Potential complications were to be expected, but why had she stopped herself in mid-sentence?

  “Even if things go smoothly, then what?” asked Gwynne.

  “Giving birth to a shifter is never easy. For that matter, birth in general is complex and dangerous. But the reason that I’ve been driving you mad with my persistent checkups is that any change, regardless of how small it may seem to you, is a potential sign of danger. This baby will not go easy on you; make no mistake. When the time comes it will treat your body like a prison from which it longs to break free.”

  “I understand,” said Gwynne. The Lady had a way of making her feel scolded as she’d thought only a parent could do. It was her protective nature and her affection for Gwynne that made her so, and it made the young woman feel safe; an irony, given that her two male guardians were all but invincible themselves. She hadn’t thought she could feel more protected until the day she’d met this woman.

  “If there is a problem,” Gwynne continued, “Could we leap? Could I bring you to my era?”

  “I suppose, yes. But leaping takes strength, and you will need all of it for the birth. And in truth, there is only one person in your era whom I trust enough to want him helping with such an event as yours. You understand that what you are about to go through would baffle even the most modern scientists, don’t you?”

  “Yes, I suppose you’re right. Don’t worry, though. I’ll keep tabs on my health. I’ve grown very attached to this baby. I won’t let anything happen to him. Or her.”

  “Do you have a feeling either way about the sex?” asked the Lady.

  “I’m trying not to. I don’t want to wish for one above the other. To be honest, every time I think it’s a boy, something in my mind tells me that no, it’s a girl.”

  “Then it’s simple. It’s one or the other,” laughed the Lady.

  Gwynne smiled at the thought. A mini Rauth or Lachlan, or even a little Gwynne with a wolf’s eyes. Any of the options would be wonderful. A little Rauth would be a stubborn boy, headstrong like both his parents. A little Lachlan would be generous to a fault. A young Gwynne would no doubt be a combination of the three. But any child of theirs would be noble and good at the base of his or her soul. And that’s all that Gwynne could ask.

  “I have a question,” she said after a time, “It’s about you.” Over the months she’d tried to extract information from her caretaker, only receiving the minimum of information. She always let it go, frustrating though it was, because the Lady was secretive to her very core.

  “You know that you can ask anything, and I will do my best to respond,” said her friend.

  “This is a little more direct than usual. But I need to know. Did you…did you know my mother?”

  The Lady stood and walked towards the window, a gentle breeze blowing at her veil as she did so.

  “I did, yes,” she said. “For a time.”

  “What was she like?”

  “The woman who raised you was good and kind, as I’m sure you know. It was crucial that she escape from your father, the Lord Drake. He was known even back then as a cruel man, despite his handsome face and his power. But his pairing with your mother was considered a good match, you see.” She turned back to Gwynne. “She did what she could to protect you.”

  “Including moving through time, to live among strangers.”

  “Yes, including moving through time, leaving her family, her friends, everything she knew, behind. I can only imagine that it was frightening for her, and difficult.”

  “I suppose it must have been,” said Gwynne, remembering her own early days in the castle and how strange it had been to be pulled from her own time. “Do you know where she is now?”

  The Lady went silent, which Gwynne always took to mean “move on to the next question.” She knew better than to ask twice.

  “It doesn’t matter, I suppose,” she said, standing up. “Maybe it’s best that I not know.”

  “You need to look after yourself and your child for now, Gwynne. Sometimes that means a sort of isolation, which can be difficult. In the same way that your mother isolated herself for you, you must do so for that baby inside you. Don’t worry about the past just now. Focus on the present and the future.”

  “Yes, of course you’re right.” Gwynne felt a new admiration for her mother, the woman she’d all but forgotten. In her own way, the Lady had become a sort of surrogate parent, protective and watchful. Between the two women was a bond that stemmed from a sort of mutual respect. At times Gwynne thought that no mother could be more precious to her than this woman whom she’d discovered on a rocky Cornish beach.

  “I just wish, sometimes,” she said quietly, “that she could know her grandchild.”

  “Perhaps she will,” said the Lady.

  * * *

  Kinship 4

  In the 1340s the town that Gwynne had come to know in the twenty-first century as Trekilling was only a village composed of a few farms, a church and some wool merchants’ houses. The merchants were wealthy, which meant that the church that they’d funded was vast and impressive, built in a similar style to Dundurn: a fortress-like stone structure, almost foreboding on the landscape and seeming to announce its presence as if to say, “Powerful people live in our village.” Of course, in relation to Dundurn or to Drake’s distant castle, named Carrfyr, it was miniscule. The humans knew better than to challenge shifters for authority and power over the land.

  Gwynne, who loved to wander, had nevertheless avoided the village in the fourteenth century, and not only because leaving the castle’s grounds often meant risking being seen from above. Something about getting to kno
w the town’s population which would die off by her own era struck her as sad and even futile. She felt as though she’d already walked in the footsteps of the dead, and for various reasons didn’t want to see the faces of those people whose shadows had been long forgotten in her own time.

  Shifters were another matter; they lived unpredictably long lives. It was entirely possible that Rauth and Lachlan might survive until her century, barring death in battle. But she hated to think of such things. Gwynne wasn’t afraid of much, but the idea of loss pained her.

  It came as a surprise when one afternoon a merchant came to the castle to see her, risking his own life at the hands, or talons, of the flyers. The day had been calm and quiet, though; it seemed as though the enemy were taking a brief break from aggravating assaults, and perhaps the wanderer knew it.

  “My Lady,” said the guard who came to find her outside in the courtyard. Gwynne had been enjoying the rare pleasure of reading a book under the mid-day sun. “One of the town’s men has come to ask something of you.”

  “Are you sure he wants to speak to me? Why not the alphas?”

  “I don’t know, my Lady. But he asked for you specifically by name.”

  “All right,” she said. “Send him to me.” When she didn’t move, the guard responded by shifting his weight awkwardly, as though the soles of his feet were frozen in place.

  “It’s customary,” he said, “to hold meetings such as these in the Great Chamber.”

  Gwynne knew the room that he was talking about: a large space inside the castle that she’d never seen used for anything, which in itself had always amused her. No one in the twenty-first century would own such a space and leave it mostly vacant, and yet the medieval residents of Dundurn did just that.

  One used the map room to study maps. A sitting room was for sitting; each had its use. But the Great Chamber remained empty except for incredibly rare meetings with outsiders, and otherwise it was simply wasted space.

  It struck Gwynne as odd that anyone would ask for her rather than her two mates. They were after all male, not to mention in charge of the place. But, if only out of curiosity, she followed the guard into the chamber as he escorted her to a large chair which sat on a sort of dais at the far end of the room.

  The cwen was dressed in a full dress of gold silk which had become a uniform of sorts; a tribute to the drake which she now regarded as a large part of herself, of her very nature.

  “Send him in,” she told the guard when she was seated. She tried to pull the folds of her dress forward so that the visitor wouldn’t be able to see her pregnant belly; Gwynne didn’t know if it was common knowledge among the townsfolk that she was with child, and could only assume that they didn’t know. It wasn’t customary to pay visits to women who might be on the verge of childbirth, not in this era.

  When the doors opened, a greying, middle-aged man walked in, flanked by two large dire wolves. Apparently this was part of the tradition as well; the guards watched any human who entered to make sure that he meant no harm. Their wolf forms were more about tradition and ceremony than threat, though it wasn’t a bad idea to let the visitors know that they could lose an arm if they attempted anything untoward.

  In Gwynne’s younger years she would have stood and shaken the man’s hand with a smile on her face. But somehow the situation called for solemnity and so she simply sat and attempted to appear regal. No one had coached her on how to receive such a guest.

  “My Lady,” said the man, bowing when he was before her.

  “What can I do for you?” she asked, genuine puzzlement in her voice as she attempted to avoid smiling in amusement at his deference. After all the months she still wasn’t entirely accustomed to being perceived as royalty.

  “My name is Bolton, My Lady,” said the man. “For some time, as I’m sure you know, there have been attacks on Trekilling by flyers. These have grown worse in recent months, with the creatures taking some of our livestock and other goods. There have even been reports of a drake…”

  “A drake?” said Gwynne, wondering if he was referring to her own déor. Her flights were rare but on occasion she had stepped out to soar, the creature within her desperate for a moment to free itself.

  “Yes, a rather large one who’s been wreaking havoc. He’s torn through once or twice at night. Burned crops. Even the odd shed, as though purely for pleasure.”

  There was only one other drake around: her father.

  “I’m sorry to hear this,” she said. “But I’m not sure why you’ve come to me. The alphas would be better suited…”

  “The alphas, with respect, my lady, can be difficult to deal with. They’re not terribly approachable, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

  Gwynne wanted to laugh. Ain’t that the truth, she thought.

  “Still, I don’t know what I can do to help. I’m…” She stopped herself before revealing her pregnancy. If in fact this man didn’t know, it was best kept secret as long as possible.

  “To be entirely honest, we in the village know of your déor, my Lady,” said the man simply, his eyes fixed on her own. He spoke to her as though she were a man in a leadership role, which she appreciated. It had been a long time since a stranger had approached her without some sort of disingenuous worship in his voice, but this one was a straight shooter.

  “You’re asking me to fight the drake,” she said. “With my own déor.”

  “I’m asking you to protect your people. The village is under the jurisdiction of this castle. And you are a powerful…force, from what I understand.”

  “It seems odd to me that you should ask a woman for such a service,” she said, thinking especially a mother-to-be. If the alphas knew what was going on, they would probably stop this meeting in its tracks.

  “Well, from what I understand, you are an odd sort of woman,” the man said, smiling. Gwynne liked him. Something in his face reminded her of her adopted father, who’d always had a sort of twinkle in his eye. And even the man’s lack of delicacy pleased her. Unlike many of the males of his era he felt no need to treat her as though she were made of fine-bone china. He seemed rather to know her strength and that there was no need to tread on eggshells.

  “I will consider your request,” she said simply. “I don’t like the idea of the Lord Drake harassing or terrorizing the people of Trekilling.”

  “Thank you, my Lady. It is my hope that our little village will flourish and grow, and hopefully our stone structures will last for a good while yet.”

  “Oh, I suspect that they’ll be around for several hundred years, at least,” said Gwynne. She felt both a deep sadness and joy at being able to assure the man of this. She’d seen Trekilling with her own eyes, and many of the houses and the church still stood proudly in 2014, albeit surrounded by ancient graves, no doubt of this man and his descendants among others.

  “I will come and see your village,” she promised. “In the next few days. I would like to see the damage with my own eyes. I’m not yet acquainted with the Lord Drake, as you may or may not know; he is my blood relation, but we have no bond. But perhaps it’s about time that I met him.”

  “Thank you, my Lady. The people of Trekilling owe you their gratitude.”

  “As you say, the village is under our jurisdiction. I would be a worthless cwen if I allowed them to suffer under my watch.”

  When Bolton had left, she began to formulate a plan, though strategizing where a madman such as her father was concerned seemed like another futile pursuit.

  * * *

  Kinship 5

  When Lachlan came upon her, Gwynne was still seated at her small throne in the Great Chamber. He leaned against the door’s frame, admiring her poise from a distance and taking note of her dignified silence as she sat, as though over the months she’d learned to occupy her role of queen without instruction. She had the air of a leader, and the fact that she had his and Rauth’s young inside her only cemented her position: she was in her domain now. This castle was hers as much as it belong
ed to anyone.

  “My Lady,” he said as he sealed the large wooden door behind him, hoping to avoid startling her.

  Her face lit up with a warm smile when she turned his way, as though she’d been pulled out of a cold world into warm surroundings.

  “Lachlan,” she said, standing up. “I’m happy to see you.”

  “Are you, now?” He moved towards her. She looked beautiful as always, her golden dress pooling on the floor around her, its looseness doing little to hide the curves which had only become more voluptuous and appealing with her pregnancy.

  “I always am,” she said. “You know that.”

  “I do, and it is only one of the many things I love about you.” He took her hands in his. “You looked very serious for a moment there, though.”

  “Did I? Well, I suppose occasionally I do have serious thoughts. But overall I’m so…content…these days. And of course you’re a huge part of that. I must admit that I’ve been worried—you didn’t always seem entirely sold on this pregnancy thing.”

  “Oh, I am. You can trust that I am. Nothing could make me happier than the idea of our child,” he said, and his smile told her that he meant it. “I simply hope for the best. For good health for you, for him or her. And that the Lord Drake learns to leave us alone.”

  He stopped speaking and simply admired her for a moment, desire filling him. Even the most serious of topics in the most formal room of the castle couldn’t keep him from wanting her.

  Sensing his wishes, she took a step closer to him, a hand reaching for his chest.

  “Well, I suppose we should go…” she began, but he interrupted, pulling her to him and kissing her, his lips reacting as hers parted, his body aching for her own. The clothing which had looked so lovely on her a moment ago now seemed like an irritation, an impediment, and Lachlan couldn’t wait to free her from it.