by Sky Winters
Furious, Angelina kicked out with her feet. There was a satisfying meaty thump and her toes, inside the cute little sandals, tingled as her feet met his hard flesh. Joaquin’s fingers tightened though. Blackness danced on the edges of her vision. Her breath stopped in her throat.
“Let her go.”
Joaquin dropped her. Angelina gave his jaw a swift punch. Joaquin staggered, his head whipping around.
It wasn’t over. He’d never call it done, not if he could help it.
Sam, her brother, stepped closer, menace showing on his strong features. His eyes swept from Angelina to Joaquin. “Don’t touch her like that again. Alpha or no, I will kill you.”
Joaquin bristled. “She deserved it. She disobeyed. Nobody gets to disobey me.”
The churlish tone made Angelina’s shoulders tense, but Joaquin finally left.
Sam asked, “What was that about?”
Angelina threw her hands up in the air. “He said Mario would be better off if someone shot him, and I disagreed. He demanded I go to his drug den tonight, and I disagreed.”
Sam glowered at her. “You’ve got to learn your place.”
“Are you insane? Don’t you…it’s only been a year since he was named Alpha and everyone acts like they do not even remember what it was like before he came to power. I remember! I remember we used to look after the neighborhood. We didn’t try to tear it down. We didn’t deal drugs and we damn sure didn’t deal it to our neighbors! Joaquin’s power and money hungry, he’s destroying our homes and lives, and all you are going to do is tell me to learn my place!”
Sam said, “That’s what I’m saying.”
Anger flushed heat through her system. Shift came with it. Her teeth elongated and fur rippled into place along her spine and neck. Cool out, she told herself as her nails grew, becoming sharp and dangerous. Cool out. He is still your brother and Dad would be upset if we fought. Not that I won’t fight him if I have to, but now is not the time or place.
Her body shifted again, the teeth and claws no longer showing, the fur replaced by smooth and supple skin. Her forehead puckered into a deep frown as sorrow gathered in the place of the all-encompassing rage. “How can you do that? Dad would be ashamed of you.”
“Don’t tell me what Dad would feel. He isn’t here, and you don’t get to speak for him. Even if you were his favorite.” Sam’s teeth were showing, too, even if he had not shifted.
The old rivalries between them still stood. She had always been their father’s favorite. He had called her his little warrior, and with reason. She had always been the fiercest of her litter, and Antonio had often laughed as he talked about how, on the night he had escaped from the zoo with them, it had been her who had fought and drawn his blood.
Don’t say it. You’re on thin ice here and it’s obvious Sam will protect you, but only up to a point. Don’t set him off and make him mad enough to let Joaquin have his way. You need Sam as an ally here.
“Thanks for not letting him choke me to death,” she said in a tight and strained voice.
“I might not be nearby next time. Watch your mouth, Angelina, before it gets you killed. Learn your place in this pack and keep it. If you don’t, I might not interfere again, not even if it means you dying.”
The warning was clear, and vicious. It laid bare all his allegiances. He would protect her as long as she was necessary. She was necessary but only because Joaquin wanted her as a mate, and that gave Sam some leverage in the pack. If she didn’t mate with Joaquin, and learn her place, go docile like a pet dog, she would be killed. Sam would be disgraced and probably exiled as a result, and they both knew it.
At that moment, she understood something else, too. Sam would kill her himself if Joaquin ordered it. Her legs turned liquid. She was alone and on shaky ground and the alliances within the pack were equally shaky and subject to change. None would stand against Joaquin, either because they stood to gain too much or because they stood to lose too much.
Okay, then.
Angelina moved to walk past Sam, but he grabbed her arm and held it tightly. His voice was low and deadly. “You’ll do as you are told.”
All her inner warnings and cries for restraint washed off in a fog of anguish mingled with rage. “The hell I will. If you had your way, I would be out there slinging meth on the corner and sleeping in his bed tonight, and all in the name of giving Joaquin what he wants. It must be so easy for you, since it’s not you who has to mate with him.”
Angelina yanked her arm out of his grasp and headed out of the room. Mario appeared, slinking along the ground and whimpering softly. A single glance showed her a boot print near his ribs and a long torrent of swear words came from her mouth as she sank onto the floor on her knees and gathered Mario into her arms.
She whispered, “I am so sorry. It was me he was pissed off at. You were just the weakest target.”
Mario whined, his muzzle thrusting against her neck. His hot breath washed over her shoulder, racing across the strap of her tank top and Angelina held him, tears spilling down her face.
It was getting clearer all the time that she could not stay. There was no way that she wanted to live with Joaquin as her mate. She could not even stomach having him as Alpha, and she would never bear him a child if she could avoid it. She would avoid that in any way she could—even if it meant running away.
She leaned back and stared into Mario’s eyes. His ears came forward again. His eyes often held a human expression but, more and more since Antonio had died, he had gone off on his own—traveling way up in the hills and away from the pack and the house.
She sighed. “I have an idea. Let’s take a ride up to the big hills, what do you say? We could go scope out the canyons, way over in the spots you can’t get to without me because of the freeway. You want to do that?”
Mario panted and jumped; his eagerness showing. Angelina smiled in spite of the awfulness of her situation. “Let me grab my keys and purse, okay?”
She cupped his face in her hands and whispered, “I won’t ever let him kill you, Mario. You have to believe me on that one. I won’t.”
A rough tongue swiped across her face, licking away her salty tears. Angelina stood. Mario might not be human in form, but he was intelligent. How intelligent, nobody knew. He would never communicate, not even when they were all in wolf form, and even when they were all in wolf form, he was usually left out.
Exiled for being different.
Angelina knew her promise was hollow. Joaquin would kill Mario eventually. Joaquin hated the non-shifter.
Sam and her other brothers, Harold and Benny, would say nothing. They had been conditioned from infancy to accept the word of the Alpha who had led the pack that had taken them in after they and their father had escaped the clutches of the zoo.
Like Joaquin, they would feel like they were doing Mario a favor. He was neither wolf nor shifter. He was something in between and there was no place for him in the world.
Chapter 2
“Drake, man. That riff was killer. What the hell chord did you use?”
Drake grinned at his band mate Peter. “No idea, man. I call it the Hendrix chord.”
Peter swung his bass off. “Well, figure it out, because I think you went off key. If you did, we have to find a key that works with that riff.”
Drake laughed. “Says the dude with the classical education in music to the self-taught guitar player. Here, I’ll show you, and you can tell me what key it is.”
His fingers moved to form the chord, way down low on the satiny rosewood neck of his guitar, but he paused, his head tilting to one side as a faint sound drifted to his ears.
“You forget it that fast?” Pete set his bass in the holder and stretched. “I can sort of tell you from ear what strings were in it.”
“No, I just thought I heard something.”
There was no thought to it. His ears were sharper and his hearing better than a human’s. He had heard an unmistakable sound and his body tensed as he caught it
yet again. Not close, not yet, but coming.
Pete said, “I think it was a barre, or at least a partial and it sounded like it was a minor… Dude, you okay?”
“Yeah sure. Just frustrated maybe.” Drake unstrapped the guitar and swung it from free from his broad shoulder with some real relief. The thing was a custom beauty made of the finest wood and parts—and it weighed a goddamn ton, or felt like it anyway.
The roar of bikes outside halted the rest of whatever Drake had been about to say.
“Looks like you got some company, man,” Pete told him. “I have to get going anyway, but let me know about the chord, because I think we need to work that in on that song. It sounded good right there—except for being off the key.”
The clash of chromed and deep-throated engines rose higher yet, making Drake’s entire body feel rigid and tight. He forced that tension away and tried to focus on Pete. “Yeah, sure. Shit. I can’t believe we lost another bunch of folks. We have to do something about finding people who want to play.”
The bikes ground to a noisy halt in the driveway of the small and slightly rundown house.
Pete stuck his bass in its case. “I guess it’s time to put new ads up. I don’t know what the deal is with assholes joining a band one day and leaving the next, but we need some real players.”
Drake could not have agreed more. “Yeah.”
Pete said, “We’re getting gigs, man, and it makes no sense. It’s like they get all spooked or something. And it’s not because you’re a biker either; we’ve had some scabby bastards come in here. I just don’t know what it is.”
Drake knew. Some people could tell he was different. They weren’t sure how and maybe it didn’t register on the top of their brains, but they damn sure knew that he was dangerous. “I dunno. We’ll figure it out.”
Pete sighed. “We better figure it out before Friday or we can kiss our gig on Saturday goodbye.”
Pete walked out, holding the door open for Drake’s twin brother, Morgan.
Morgan and Drake were identical twins, but different as night and day. Morgan had always loved being a bear shifter, and he thrived on the politics of the shifting world. Drake hated the politics and the constant wars between the different species of shifters.
In truth, he wasn’t exactly thrilled with being a shifter either. In a world run by humans and where shifters were idolized in print and film but hunted down for hush-hush science experiments in reality, there was not much room to be who he was—and what he was.
There were days when Drake didn’t even know exactly who he was. He knew what he wanted to be, but his cursed DNA made everything else seem like a mere pipe dream.
Morgan ran a hand through his brown hair, ruffling it farther. He never wore a helmet, and so his hair was windblown even before that gesture; now it stuck up in small points all over his head, giving him a fierce look that didn’t unsettle Drake in the least.
He’d been whipping Morgan’s ass for years, and he was willing to do it again if it came to that.
Drake didn’t want to deal with Morgan just then. It was obviously not a friendly little visit. If it had been, the rest of the guys would have come in as well. Of the four bikes parked in the drive, only one other was under a shifter. The two humans in the MC were old-timers, long-haul criminals who had drifted in and out of every club up and down the West Coast and even up into Canada and across to Mexico over the years. They were too hard or too stupid to smell the difference between themselves and the others, or they did and just didn’t give a fuck. Drake had no idea which.
Drake rubbed at a sore spot near his neck. “What’s up, Morgan?”
“Just thought I would come by and tell you Mom’s a little pissed that you are not returning her calls.”
In other words, Magda had sent him to deliver that very message. “I’ll bet. You do know you could have brought me a pizza or something along with that news.”
Morgan didn’t take the joke well. “You can’t keep doing this.”
Drake tilted an eyebrow and leaned back against the arm of the sofa. “Doing what?”
Morgan yanked his hair again. “It’s nobody’s fault you didn’t become Alpha…”
Drake straightened up in a hurry. “I never said it was. In fact, I was relieved I couldn’t be Alpha. My sperm is useless—no babies for me. That means no Alpha status. Lucky for you, you have very potent sperm. I’m not pissed off, and I don’t want to argue. I just want to live my life without all the bullshit infighting and warring going on.”
“You owe a loyalty to your brothers…” Morgan began.
“Which ones? The ones out there on those bikes? The humans who have no idea what we are, or do you mean to you? Or do you mean to the pack brothers? The last time I checked, I hadn’t been disloyal. You better check yourself before you come at me with that kind of bullshit, bro.”
There was a serious amount of threat in Drake’s tone. He was really sick of the bullshit, all the way around. He really didn’t begrudge Morgan the dubious honor of being named Alpha. He didn’t give three hard damns about that or anything else—except his music.
Morgan stalked toward Drake, his eyes taking on a low orange shine. His finger came out and jabbed into Drake’s chest. Drake grabbed Morgan’s hand and opened his mouth just enough to let his fangs show while his claws shot from the ends of his fingers—all sharp edges and lethal strength.
“Goddammit, Drake!” Morgan twisted his hand away but didn’t step back. “People are starting to talk. Mom’s getting nervous.”
Drake stepped even closer, cutting off all the space between them. Their chests bumped in a really aggressive way, and Morgan was the first to take a step back.
Drake said, “I couldn’t give a damn what Mom is, or about Mom.”
Morgan’s mouth went flat. “That’s a fucked up thing to say.”
Drake sneered, “She’s a fairly fucked up individual in case you had not noticed. Magda’s a lot of things—and that’s the least of them.”
Controlling, cruel, unsatisfied, angry, and bitter—those were just a few words that described Magda well. Add in a serious thirst for power—which she had not slaked by killing off the Alpha of the bear shifter pack they’d landed in when she had made her escape from the zoo.
Magda had her eyes on the real prize—all of LA, and total control of every shifter and human who lived there. She would not stop until she accomplished that. Her latest goal was killing off the Nepali tiger pack headed by her former zoo mate Patel.
Drake had no doubt that Magda had had a hand in the deaths of the Alpha of the wolf pack and his second-in-command. The second had been a good man, by all accounts, and a decent one. It was no gossip that the hood he had helped run was now a den of drugs and other illegal shit. The new Alpha was pumping a literal metric ton of dope into the neighborhood now, all of it supplied by Drake’s motorcycle club brothers—and Magda.
Naturally, Joaquin, the new Alpha, was too stupid and greedy to see what Magda was doing. His pack would either be run out or one of them would kill him off. But the hood would stay fucked and the drugs would keep sending money right back in to Magda’s pockets—and she was using that money to grease some big wheels in the city.
Morgan grated out, “Just call her.”
“Don’t come into my den and take a stand, Morgan. Not unless you aim to fight it out with me.”
Morgan’s eyes went orange again. “You owe your life to the pack. That is the law and you know this. You don’t offer your life; your life’s worth exactly zero.”
“That’s Mom talking through your mouth. You want to run up on me?” Weariness seeped into his body. Drake settled his weight on the balls of his feet while Morgan considered his decision.
Morgan finally said, “No, but you are not going to leave me much choice.”
“You mean, she’s going to order me killed if I don’t bow down and kiss her ass like everyone else.” It was not a question.
Morgan looked away, telling D
rake everything he needed to know.
That was the last thing that he wanted. He didn’t need a war with his own family, and he didn’t want a war with them either. He had thought his being named as a Beta due to his sperm issue would free him. He had been wrong.
Morgan looked back at him. “Drake, just call her and make nice. She just needs…”
“She needs her ego stroked constantly.” The disgust in Drake’s voice made Morgan stiffen in a visible way that Drake did not miss.
Morgan said, “Not gonna argue that with you, Drake, but she is the—”
“One who pulls all the strings. She named you Alpha but she holds all the power, Morgan. I’d think you’d want to cut her off at some point, but I can see that you don’t. I’ll call her, but I am warning you and her, back off me. I gave my life, and now I’m out. I got exiled, remember?”
“It was a hard decision, Drake. You had to be exiled because there could not be two bears who might be Alpha. There had to be a clear delineation of power.”
Drake laughed. The delineation of power was clear. Magda held it all and would until she died, maybe even longer, if she had her way. “Yeah, sure.”
Morgan glanced around the room. “How’s the music going?”
The abrupt shift in topic was meant to disarm him. It was an old trick, one of Magda’s best, in fact. “Good, got a gig this weekend down at the Whiskey.”
Morgan said, “Hey, that’s big.”
“Yeah.” And his band had fled again, so now he had big problems to go along with that big gig. Great. Just what he needed.
Morgan ran a hand along his face. “I got to get going. Call her, okay?”
“Yeah, sure.” He would, if for no other reason than just to get her off his ass while he figured out a way to get a band behind him in the next four days. Yeah, good luck with that one.
Morgan left. Drake, too restless to think or figure anything else out, made a hasty and obligatory call to Magda, who pretended that he was calling because he wanted to and not because she had just sent someone after him.
