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

by Carina Wilder

  “You’re right. I apologize,” said Lachlan. The Lady had shamed him; she stood strong in defense of Gwynne. This was their mate’s wish: to protect their young, even if it meant sacrificing her own body and life. “I only wish,” Lachlan continued, “that we could ease her pain.”

  Another cry rose from within the room then, but this time it wasn’t Gwynne’s. The Lady rushed back in, the alphas on her heels.

  “What is it?” she asked, but the answer was evident before Ygrena had time to respond.

  The sheets had gone red with blood.

  Gwynne lay unconscious, her ghostly face and the top half of her white gown in stark contrast to the circle of crimson which surrounded her.

  “Oh, dear God,” said the Lady.

  * * *

  Moments later, everything seemed to happen at once: the Lady disappeared, no doubt to seek help. Lachlan ran off to fetch the castle’s medic. Ygrena went to get water, clean rags and anything else that might be useful.

  Rauth found himself alone amid the chaos, staring helplessly at his beloved mate and filled with a sudden onslaught of regret.

  The alpha simply knelt next to Gwynne, whose eyes were sealed shut. Her face was peaceful, angelic even, and he already missed the life in its features which were now as still as a painting’s. He would have given anything to see the expression of anger she’d so often shown him, or even sadness. It was her passion that he loved most; she was like a female version of himself.

  But the difference between them was that she didn’t fear emotion as he did; she embraced it. She freely admitted love for the men, for the offspring they would have. Love was life to her. And here he was, a man whose life had been spent attempting to prove how little a heart mattered.

  In that moment, however, he reached for her hand. It was cold but not entirely lifeless, and Rauth convinced himself that he could feel her grasp his own gently. He kissed her white skin and said softly, “If you survive, my Gwynne…if you make it through all of this, I will do anything. For you, for our children. I will not send them away. I will build you your own castle, hidden from sight, if needs be. Don’t leave me. You promised. Please, don’t leave me.”

  * * *

  The American doctor, whose name was Evans, was the only person that the Lady trusted among those who lived in modern times. He had come to her once years before when she’d been burned, and treated her. He knew of her strange skills, of her ability to move through time among other powers, but he’d always had a fondness for her and would keep her secrets until his own death without so much as a moment’s hesitation.

  “She’ll be needing a transfusion,” he said solemnly as he stood at the foot of Gwynne’s bed. “Which means finding a compatible blood donor, and fast. I’ve run her sample, and it’s O positive, the most common type, which should mean that this won’t be an issue. Only there’s a problem.”

  “What is it?”

  “There are elements to her blood that aren’t human, not surprisingly. If not for that, I could give her mine. But it looks like she’ll need the blood of a relative. A shifter.”

  “Well,” said the Lady, “There’s her father. But it’s unlikely that he’ll be helping, given that he’d love to see his daughter dead.”

  “Is there anyone else? We need to be quick about it.”

  “There is one.”

  * * *

  Kinship 15

  As dawn began to break, a cool breeze wafted into the room. White curtains billowed inwards from the opening of a large window, allowing the sea air to float in.

  It was Rauth who had requested the change of rooms, knowing how Gwynne loved the fresh air and the outdoors. No flyer would come near this place, he knew; not now. The cwen had never been so well guarded as she’d been for the past day and night, the alphas watching over her as guards stationed themselves at every possible entrance.

  When Gwynne’s eyes opened, she felt weak, drained, as though all the strength had been sapped from her body. The room around her was dark except for a dim glow coming through the distant window, no candles lit but one on a far-off table. For a moment she forgot what had happened to bring her to this point, but then it hit her all at once like a great blow.

  “The baby,” she said out loud through parched lips as her eyes began to adjust to the light.

  Someone was approaching, taking her hand.

  “The babies, you mean,” said Lachlan’s voice. On the other side, another hand. Rauth’s.

  “You’ve had twins,” he said. “A boy and a girl.”

  Gwynne’s head fell back and rested on the pillow.

  Two of them.

  She felt a smile overtake her. She’d survived the birth of not one, but two young shifters.

  “Where are they?” she asked quietly, as though wishing not to wake them in case they were nearby.

  At that moment, Ygrena came through the door, carrying two very small packages wrapped in soft blankets. The smile on her face on seeing Gwynne’s own conveyed every bit of love that the woman had for her mistress.

  “These are your children,” she said softly, handing them carefully to Gwynne, who looked at their sleeping faces and tried in vain not to let tears form in the corners of her eyes.

  “They’re amazing,” she said. “Perfect, even.”

  “Yes, they are,” said Lachlan. He nodded to Ygrena, and she obediently left the alphas with their mate and their children.

  Gwynne’s eyes were fully adjusted to the dim light and she could see Lachlan now, kneeling to her right, looking into her eyes with all the affection in the world.

  “Gwynne, there’s something else. Something you should know.”

  “Lachlan.” Rauth let out a low growl. He was standing on her other side, and had forced restraint when he’d watched his lover’s eyes open.

  “She needs to be told, Rauth. It’s the last of the secrets. She needs to know.”

  “What is it?” asked Gwynne.

  “You nearly died,” Lachlan continued. “There were complications, and you lost a good deal of blood. They had to perform a cesarian section on you, Gwynne. But even that was no guarantee of your safety.”

  She felt a sort of brief pang then, her nerves telling her where they’d had to cut her open to extract the two beautiful children.

  “The Lady said there was someone from my time…a doctor…” she began.

  “Yes, he was an old friend of hers, and she brought him here. He saved you, and for that we’ll always be grateful. But the thing is, Gwynne, that after all the blood loss, you needed a transfusion.”

  “So someone gave their blood for me?” she asked.

  “Yes,” said Lachlan.

  “Well, who was it? Tell me. Please.” Her voice was pleading. Whose blood did she have inside her now?

  “Your mother. Your mother saved you.”

  Gwynne felt her heart leap and she held her babies even closer to her chest. It was as though a ghost had appeared before her. “My…mother?” she asked. “Where is she?”

  “She’s nearby,” said Rauth, reluctance in his voice.

  “I want to see her.”

  “I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” Rauth continued. “You’re weak and you need to rest.”

  “I’m strong enough to have survived twins, surgery and a transfusion. I want to see her. Please, Rauth. I’ve waited most of my life to see her again.”

  “Very well.” The alpha’s voice melted into softness. For a time, at least, he would not be able to deny this woman anything.

  He signalled to a guard who stood by the door to fetch the woman who had evaded Gwynne for so many years. A moment later the guard came back in, followed by a figure in dark clothing who held a candle in one hand.

  When she was close, Gwynne gasped, “You.”

  The Lady’s veil was lit from below and she pulled it back to reveal her scarred face for the first time, its surface pronounced in the flickering light of the small flame. But Gwynne could see her features now: t
he half of her face that had remained intact, even beautiful.

  “But you’re not her,” she said as her mates gently took the babies from her arms. “You’re not my mother.”

  “Gwynne,” said the Lady. “It’s time you knew some things.”

  * * *

  Kinship 16

  “It’s true. I am the Lady Drake,” she said, easing herself onto the edge of the bed. “My name, though I haven’t used it in many years, is Freya. I was married to your father. I still am, if we’re going to speak of technicalities.”

  “But—you’re not the woman who raised me,” said Gwynne, still in shock. “The one who left me the letter that led me here.”

  “No, I’m not, though I did write the letter. The woman who raised you for ten years, Yvonne, was my lady in waiting. She was a good and kind woman and served me—and you—well, to say the least. I asked her for a decade of her life and she gave it willingly. But it was all that I could ask of her. I let her return to her time, to her family. When you were an infant and she took you away I stayed behind, here, in an attempt to keep your father at bay and to keep you safe.

  “At first I told him that I’d lost you—the baby—in childbirth. But, much as there is a good deal wrong with him, he’s not a stupid man. He found out the truth. For my crimes he tried to kill me, to burn me to death.”

  “Your scar,” said Gwynne, tears in her eyes.

  “Yes. He caught me off guard. It was my own fault, really. I had too much faith that there was some shred of goodness in him.”

  “There isn’t, trust me,” said Gwynne, remembering the look on the man’s face: that seething hatred; the disregard for everyone and everything.

  “I know. And much as I would have liked to repay him in kind, I couldn’t. So I left. I abandoned my identity, took what I knew and made a life for myself, alone.”

  “But you know all sorts of things from my time,” said Gwynne. “About medicine, clothing, language, everything. You must have spent parts of your life there.”

  “I did. After I left the Lord Drake I spent a good deal of time in New England, watching over you from a distance,” said Freya. “Years, in fact. Studying medicine. That’s how I got to know Dr. Evans, you see. Oh, it was all very unofficial, but I gained enough knowledge to come back here and to help my people. It’s been a struggle, I’ll tell you, to keep them from knowing too much. I have never wished to change the course of history; only to guide it a little.”

  “But why didn’t you tell me…?” Gwynne’s confusion was eating at her. She didn’t know whether to be angry, happy, relieved or puzzled.

  “For you and for myself, Gwynne. There is more to me than you know, you see. If word gets out that I’m still around, I will simply be another danger for you…”

  “People think you’re dead then?”

  “Yes, they do. The Lady Drake is dead. But the strange veiled lady lives. She’s an eccentric sort, and no one really knows where she’s from. But shifters understand secrecy and so don’t ask too many questions.”

  Lachlan, who had remained silent in a corner, took a step forward now and said, “You and I spoke of a phoenix,” he said. “Do you remember, Gwynne, seeing your scales glow hot?”

  “Yes,” she said, her lips slowly mouthing the word.

  “And when you were with your father, I’m sure that his did not.”

  Gwynne hadn’t thought of it, but Lachlan was right: her father didn’t have that same trait. His scales had remained dull, tarnished-looking.

  “That was from you,” she said, looking at her mother. “You’re the phoenix.”

  The Lady smiled. “I am. I was, at any rate. I haven’t shifted in many years, Gwynne. You can imagine that keeping one’s identity secret while in the form of a bird of fire is an impossibility.”

  Gwynne knew only too well of the perils of shifting when your déor was as conspicuous as a giant torch flying through the air.

  As though making up its own mind, her hand reached for the lady’s own and squeezed. “I am glad you’re here,” she said. “I know what you’ve done for me. I think I’ve always known.”

  A tear dropped down her mother’s cheek and landed on her lap as she smiled at her daughter.

  “I’m glad too,” she said. “I didn’t know if this day would or should ever come. The last thing I’ve ever wanted was to put you in peril. And now that the young ones are here—“ She looked around at the two men. “What will you name them?”

  “I hadn’t thought of it,” lied Gwynne. The truth was that she’d mulled over thousands of names but until the babies looked her in the eye, she knew that they wouldn’t receive names. “Between the three of us we’ll come up with something. But…will you stay here?” she asked. “I’d like to have you around.”

  “Of course, if you wish for it.”

  “I do. More than you know.”

  * * *

  Kinship 17

  Gwynne grew stronger with each passing day, and managed to find herself up and walking soon after the harrowing birth. It wasn’t in her nature to lie still for long, anyhow, and both her human and drake sides quickly grew restless in their confinement to the bed.

  The same could be said for the babies, who were as yet nameless. After a few days they’d become bright-eyed and alert, much more so than the human newborns that Gwynne had seen over the course of her life.

  The little girl had large green eyes like hers. The boy’s were a sort of aqua colour, as though her green and the men’s blue had mingled. No one knew what this meant for their futures, for their déors.

  Within a matter of weeks they’d grown to the size of two-year-olds and were scampering around, running like mad. Watching the alphas chase after them gave Gwynne no end of pleasure. And she and her mates had named the babies at last: Rohan and Lilliana.

  “They’re like puppies,” she’d said to her mother. “At first helpless, and now romping all over the place. I can’t keep up with them, so I’m glad someone can.”

  “Well, the good news is that you have hundreds of shifters around to help, and of course Ygrena,” said Freya.

  “Thank God for her,” said Gwynne.

  It was on an afternoon of the fourth week as Gwynne sat alone with the children that Rauth came to her. As she’d hoped, his warmth poured out around their offspring: particularly little Lilliana, who was the apple of his eye, fair-skinned and bright-eyed like her mother. He’d never envisioned himself father to a daughter and yet here she was, perfect, sweet, even stubborn as his mate was. He would sit and play with her and her brother for hours on end, listening to them as they began to speak after only a few weeks of life.

  “And how is my cwen today?” he asked, stroking Gwynne’s hair that afternoon as he watched his children dash around.

  “I’m doing well. Very well,” she said. “If anything, I feel even better than before these two came along.” She looked into his eyes. “And I’m happy, Rauth.”

  “Good,” he said, kissing her forehead as he crouched next to her.

  “I heard what you said, you know,” she said. “When you spoke to me…when I was unconscious the day I had the surgery. I don’t know how or why, but I heard you.”

  Rauth went silent. Should he be embarrassed? No. Every word had come from his heart.

  “I meant it all,” he said simply.

  “I know. And I’ll hold you to it. We’ll work together, you, Lachlan and I. We’ll find a way to deal with that horrible drake in the far-off castle. I’m not willing to let him rule my world or my life.”

  “You realize, Gwynne, that he can’t be stopped from the ground. Our wolves can only do so much…”

  “As I said, Rauth: we’ll work together. I’m a modern woman, remember. I have ideas.” She smiled then, knowing how he hated and loved when she showed herself his equal. And she’d been thinking lately of Cynric, the flyer with the rebel army, and wondering how his work was progressing. Perhaps it was time to bring him into the fold.

  �
�We’ll speak of it later,” Rauth said. “Meanwhile I thought that maybe Ygrena could see to the children for a little. I wanted to spend some time with you.”

  With that he stood and walked to the door. Ygrena came in a moment later, and her face lit up as it always did when she saw the children; she loved them as much as she loved her mistress.

  Gwynne stood and wandered over to her offspring, giving each a kiss on the top of the head. They were playing with wooden toys: wolves, dragons and a cart on rickety wheels which seemed able to speak, all of whom seemed to be conspiring against one another. She wondered who’d win the imaginary war.

  * * *

  Rauth brought Gwynne to a room she’d never entered before, not far from the nursery where she spent so much time with the children.

  “Go ahead,” he told her. “Open the door.”

  She pushed it open to reveal something like a vision of paradise. The room had been filled with small potted trees and flowers, and a bed was stationed at its centre, covered in a canopy of vines and roses.

  “I know that you miss the outdoors,” he said. “And soon I intend to change this world of yours, so that you can once again run around out there. You and our children will be able to play, to shift. To live your lives.”

  Gwynne’s jaw dropped as she walked among the greenery. A series of small, narrow windows allowed sunlight to pour into the room in stripes of golden warmth.

  “It’s amazing,” she said.

  “I’m—we’re—glad you like it.” It was Lachlan’s voice this time, from the doorway.

  “I suppose,” said Rauth, “that I should admit that it was a joint effort.”

  “Whatever sort of effort it was, I’m eternally grateful,” said Gwynne, sitting on the bed and gazing at her surroundings, taking in the scents and sights. She lay back, revelling in it all. Suddenly she felt young, free and without a worry in the world, as though the room itself were a drug.