Alpha's Fate: A BBW Wolf-Shifter Paranormal Mystery & Romance (Arcane Affairs Agency)

by Nora Ash

  ALPHA’S FATE

  NORA ASH

  CONTENTS

  Summary

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Bonus Epilogue

  Arcane Affairs Agency

  COPYRIGHT

  Copyright © 2016 by Nora Ash

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Any and all likeness to trademarks, corporations or persons, dead or alive, is purely coincidental.

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  SUMMARY

  A murder, a witch with a secret, and a wolf shifter determined to get to the bottom of it all. Add to that a bloodthirsty demon and a batch of love potion-laced cookies.

  What could possibly go wrong?

  WHEN JACKSON DALE drove into Thompson’s Mill, he thought he was there for just another case: solve the murder and move on to the next town with a demon problem.

  What he wasn’t expecting was to run into a suspicious little witch who makes his sense of trouble stir—and his Wolf howl with need.

  POPPY ROSE IS a witch with a problem. A demon problem, more exact.

  As if trying to avoid getting killed by a monster with a taste for witch magic wasn’t difficult enough, the smoking hot shifter agent who just blew into town only complicates matters. If he finds out just why that demon is loose in Thompson’s Mill, Poppy’s in for a world of trouble.

  Good thing this kitchen witch has a trick or two up her sleeve.

  ALPHA’S FATE is a full-length standalone novel set in the Arcane Affairs Agency world.

  1

  JACKSON

  The moment I walked into Poppy’s Café and Bakery, I knew I’d found trouble.

  The faint touch of some kind of spell as I passed through the merrily jingling door made the hairs on my nape stand on end, and my Wolf shuddered at the contact.

  Fucking great. I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised that there were witches in Thompson’s Mill—I was here to investigate a haunting, after all. No doubt some inexperienced witchling on a power trip had dabbled in magic she shouldn’t have.

  I narrowed my eyes and scanned the small café, looking for its owner. It was just past noon, and the little shop was stuffed full of hungry patrons, so it took me a little while to get a clear view of the two women bustling around behind the counter. They were busy preparing paper-wrapped sandwiches and stuffing cake slices and pastries into white-and-pink striped cardboard boxes, filling an inordinate amount of paper cups with coffee, and handing out the occasional plate to the few diners lucky enough to get a table.

  My focus zeroed in on the strawberry-blonde furthest to the left. With a name like Poppy, it wasn’t unreasonable to assume the owner would be the only redhead behind the counter.

  I waited in line for the better part of fifteen minutes, and spent the time trying to see if I could get a sense of the spell that had brushed against my sharpened senses when I entered the shop. Magic wasn’t exactly my strong suit, but I’d worked for the Agency long enough to know what to look for around witches. It didn’t take me long to spot the little charm hanging above the door, nor the three crystals sparkling in the sun. To a regular visitor, they probably looked like decorations, but I was pretty sure the witch who owned this café had put a bit of attraction magic into them, tempting passersby to look closer at the mouthwatering display of baked goods in the window.

  I grimaced when I realized it had worked on me, too. I was planning on scouting out the town center after leaving my bags at the only B&B in Thompson’s Mill when I’d passed Poppy’s Café and Bakery, and my stomach growled demandingly at the sight of all the cakes and pastries in the window. Fucking witches. Oh, well. At least I now knew that whatever haunted the town wasn’t the only paranormal entity around.

  “Hiya, what can I get for you today?” The chirpy voice drew my attention from my scouting of the small shop, and I realized that I was finally at the front of the line. The strawberry-blonde looked up at me with an expectant smile, waiting for me to order. Her eyes were forest green, the exact same shade of the summer woods up in Washington where I’d grown up, and her smile gave her cute little dimples in each cheek. My Wolf reared its head, a rush of excitement flooding through me as it pushed against the confines of my human body. I frowned, shoving it down despite its struggle to come to the surface. What the hell? It never fought me for dominance anymore. Not since I hit puberty, at least.

  “Sir?” The woman’s voice penetrated my internal struggle and I refocused on her, keeping my excited Wolf under control as I did.

  “Poppy?” I asked.

  Her green eyes widened in surprise. “Yes, I’m Poppy Rose. I’m sorry, do I know you?”

  “No, ma’am. I’m Jackson Dale from the Agency—when you have some time, I’d like to ask you a few questions.” I didn’t need to specify which agency—all supernaturals knew about us, and on the off chance that one of the other patrons in the packed shop overheard me, I’d rather not have them wondering what the hell the Agency of Arcane Affairs was.

  Her mouth dropped open in a pink little “O,” her eyes widening even further. Not an unusual reaction, especially not in Podunk Midwest. Corn fields just weren’t the usual hub for the kind of paranormal activities that required the Agency’s involvement. Most hick town dwellers like Poppy would never run into an agent, and I appreciated that seeing one of us hardly ever meant anything good. But still—the murder three days ago had set off the usual alarm bells at Headquarters. It shouldn’t have been all that surprising that the Agency checked in on the situation.

  “Oh. Well, I’m kind of busy right now so… maybe come back later?” The redhead was still smiling at me, but the friendliness that had practically bubbled from her before was somewhat lacking now. Ah, so she’d worked out I was a shifter.

  “Nah, I’ll wait, cupcake. And I’ll have one of those cream puffs. And a ham sandwich.” Yeah, there was zero chance I’d let her out of my sight before I’d questioned her. If she turned out to actually be involved somehow, I wasn’t going to give her the time to destroy any evidence before I’d assessed her.

  “Certainly,” she said, her eyes shooting daggers at me despite the permanent smile on her plump lips. Apparently, she wasn’t into pet names.

  I watched her as she busied herself with prepping my food, looking for signs that my presence had her flustered or acting dodgy.

  But Poppy didn’t display any other signs than mild irritation, which gave me time to appreciate her ample ass when she turned around and bent for a plate below the counter.

  My Wolf whined pathetically at the sight, and to my chagrin I felt my cock stir in my jeans.

  Great. My cheeks heated as I fou
ght back both my Wolf and my body with a determined push of willpower. Getting hard in the middle of a shop like an adolescent pup was about the last thing I’d allow. Sure, she had a pretty face and the kind of overflowing curves I usually loved on a woman, but the day I fucked a witch was the day I turned in my badge and lived out the rest of my life on a Tibetan mountaintop.

  “Here ya go,” Poppy said when she plonked down two small plates made from floral china, one overflowing with a delicious-looking ham sandwich and the other with the cream puff I’d ordered.

  “Thanks, doll,” I said, but she’d already turned around to deal with the next customer. Effectively ignoring me.

  Witches. Always so fucking bitchy.

  Both the sandwich and the pastry were about the best things I’d ever put in my mouth, and it put me in a distinctly better mood. I managed to hijack one of the five small tables in the shop where I had an excellent view over the shop while I finished my food and waited for Poppy to be done.

  In my time with the Agency, I’d seen my fair share of murderers, and I’d learned early on that even the cutest-looking girl could be capable of truly horrific things, and doubly so when she knew magic. The thing about dark witches were that they never advertised themselves as such.

  In my experience, when someone ended up dead from mysterious causes, a witch was always involved.

  I hadn’t had the time to see the body yet, but given the information the Agency had picked up from the autopsy, whoever had killed Ms. Perkins had left tell-tale signs of dark magic on her skin. And lo and behold, not ten minutes after driving into town, I just happened to come across a witch.

  If it was a coincidence, I’d eat my badge.

  It took the better part of an hour before the lunch rush finally died down and the patrons inside Poppy’s Café dispersed.

  I waited until there were only a couple of elderly ladies left by the closest table to the window, too busy gabbing about knitting patterns to pay me any mind, before I got up from my own table and strolled back over to the counter.

  Poppy looked up from wiping down the desk, her mouth flattening into a disapproving line. “Oh. You’re still here.”

  “Indeed. Is there somewhere we can talk in private?”

  She looked hesitantly from me to the back door. “Can I see your badge first?”

  Didn’t want to be alone with an unknown shifter, huh? Not that I could blame her—I’d seen more than a couple dead witches with torn-out throats in my time.

  I fished the amulet marking me as a member of the Agency out from my shirt’s neckline. To regular humans, it just looked like an intricate pendant on a leather cord, but all paranormals recognized it for what it was.

  Poppy reached up as if to touch it, but withdrew her hand when I arched an eyebrow at her. Again, her mouth flattened and she turned around and walked to the back door with brisk steps.

  I followed her into what turned out to be a storage room with a set of stairs leading up.

  “What is it, then?” she asked as she turned toward me, arms folded across her chest. My Wolf raised its head again at the way her breasts pushed up against her neckline, lifted by her arms. I shoved it to the back of my mind, hard, barely keeping down the growl that threatened to escape my throat.

  “I take it you know about the murder?” I asked.

  Poppy frowned. “Murder? You mean Molly’s accident?”

  I arched an eyebrow. “Well, we’re operating under the possibility that her death wasn’t accidental.”

  “Why? And what’s it got to do with the Agency?” she asked. Her green eyes widened with what looked like honest surprise, but I noticed the way she hugged her own body, as if attempting to calm herself. Interesting.

  “Were you close with Ms. Perkins?” I asked instead of answering.

  “She came to the café pretty regularly. We didn’t mingle socially, but it’s a small town. Everyone knows everyone.”

  “And where were you on Saturday, around ten p.m.?”

  Poppy, whose face had been screwed into a frown up until then, turned noticeably paler. The brush of freckles across her nose and cheeks suddenly stood out much clearer, emphasizing the shift in her mood. “Y-you think I had something to do with her death? Why?”

  “Not necessarily. But as far as we know, she was killed by dark magic. And you are a witch, so… Where were you, cupcake?” I leaned against the wall with a shoulder, waiting for her answer.

  The shift in her expression was impressively fast, her pale skin turning fire-red in an instant. She put her hands on her hips and glared at me, her green eyes flaming with outrage. “Excuse me? So simply because I’m a witch, you think you can just waltz up in here and accuse me of murder? That’s... That’s racial profiling, you… nitwit!”

  I shrugged. “I’m not accusing you of anything. I’m simply asking you where you were at the time of the murder, and so far you haven’t managed to tell me.”

  If her glare could have killed, I would have been stone cold dead. “I was in my apartment. Watching Orange is the New Black on Netflix.”

  “Can anyone verify that? A boyfriend, perhaps, or a roommate?”

  “No, I live on my own.” Poppy folded her arms across her chest again. “Will you be questioning all singles in town, or just the ones who happen to be born witches?”

  I arched my eyebrow at her again. “You know of other witches in town?”

  “Of course I don’t. It’s called sarcasm. Goddess, you shifters don’t help your own reputation,” she said with an eye roll. “Is there anything else you’d like to accuse—I’m sorry, I mean question—me of, or can I go back to my shop now?”

  I flicked my eyes up and down her, taking in her haughty expression and her tapping foot, but her arms were still wound tight around her midriff and despite the semi darkness in the storage room I saw the way she clenched her hands so hard the knuckles turned white. Seemed this snarky little witch’s mouth might be all show. And just why was a little kitchen witch from podunk Midwest scared of being questioned by an agent? Interesting.

  I nodded at her. “Sure, that’s it for now. Don’t leave town, though—I’m sure I’ll have more questions for you later.”

  “I’m sure you will,” she said, her tone as snappy as her facial expression. Without another glance in my direction, she brushed past me and back into the shop, leaving me to follow.

  So the resident witch had something to hide? I gave Poppy’s small figure another glance as I left the shop, the doorbell chiming above my head as I passed underneath it and out onto the pavement.

  Seemed I had my first suspect. Not a bad showing for having been in town for less than two hours.

  The question was, what would she do now that she knew an agent was in town?

  I spent the next half hour in my car, parked across the street from Poppy’s Café, watching the building while I waited for her to make a move. Normally, I’d have spent the first few hours on a new location at the police station, looking over the body and going through any clues the local police had to offer, but this time felt different. Every instinct was telling me to stay put and watch the redheaded witch, and I’d learned early on to never doubt when my gut was trying to tell me something. As obnoxious as my Wolf had been today, I never doubted it when it came to a suspect. And right now, all it wanted to do was stay put and guard the pastry shop.

  Shortly after I’d taken up watch, the brunette girl who’d been working with Poppy came out of the shop, a handbag across her narrow shoulders and ear buds in her ears. I frowned. It might have been a small town, but it seemed awfully early to send home her employee.

  I watched the girl until she rounded a corner and disappeared out of sight. Perhaps it was nothing—she could have been feeling ill, or maybe she was just there for the lunch rush.

  I turned back to the shop just in time to see Poppy exiting, turning the “open” sign on the door to “closed” before she looked over her shoulder as if she expected she was being watched. Then sh
e took off down the street in the opposite direction of the brunette, shoulders slightly hunched and at quick pace.

  Seemed the witch had taken the bait.

  2

  POPPY

  Crab apples! Fudge stick, son of a sea urchin!

  I raced down Middle Lane, doing my best to keep a dignified pace even though all I wanted to do was break into a full run.

  Calm down, Poppy. There’s no need to assume the worst. I tried to force my heart down from my throat, where it had resided ever since that arrogant shifter agent uttered the words “dark magic.” There was still every chance he was mistaken and the only thing at large in Thompson’s Mill was a slippery bar of soap.

  Poor old Molly Perkins wasn’t exactly what you’d call a prime target for the kind of paranormal evil that would draw the Agency of Arcane Affairs’ attention, so more than likely, she had just stepped on one of her homemade pieces of soap while taking a shower, like the local newspaper reported.

  But… if something was amiss, then… then…

  I gritted my teeth against a whimper and rounded the corner to the sheriff’s office.

  I’d come too far to fall to pieces over hearsay and guesses. Even if they came from a grim-looking agent whose first instinct was to question me about a murder.

  Lettie Moore lit up with a smile, her coral lipstick offsetting spectacularly against her coffee-stained teeth when I walked through the door.