Table of Contents
Title Page
Praise for Brenda Sparks
Deadly Alpha
Copyright
Dedication
Acknowledgments
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
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Epilogue
Thank you for purchasing this publication of The Wild Rose Press, Inc.
Marcus rose from his machine
and headed for Christina with the swagger of a male tiger prowling after its mate. His eyes darkening in hunger, he quickened his stride, eating up the space between them.
“Did I do something wrong?” asked Christina.
Her reply came in the way of a rush of cool air when Marcus used his preternatural speed to cross the gym and scoop her up in his arms before pressing his lips to hers in a crushing kiss.
“That stretching was the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen,” he managed to bite out before he kissed her again.
Marcus pinned her against the wall next to the sauna door, his body pressed into hers. Christina wrapped her arms around his neck and returned his kiss with equal urgency. His hunger fueled her desire. He built the lust between them, letting their passion mix in their mindlink until, like a tornado, their desire circulated between them, building until it became an unstoppable whirlwind.
Nicholai opened the door to the sauna and made a hasty exit. “Get a room, you two.” Nicholai glanced at them quickly, a smile on his handsome face.
Marcus grabbed the open sauna door, catching it before it closed as he broke their kiss. “Sounds like a plan. I think this room will do.”
Praise for Brenda Sparks
“…very powerful and heartfelt.”
~Shannan Williams/Shannan’s World of Books
~*~
“I call this story dynamic for three main reasons: the suspense, the love story, and the characters which the author masterfully pulled together.”
~Lisa Rayns, author
Deadly Alpha
by
Brenda Sparks
The Alpha Council Chronicles,
Book 2
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
Deadly Alpha
COPYRIGHT © 2015 by Brenda Sparks
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
Contact Information: [email protected]
Cover Art by Rae Monet, Inc. Design
The Wild Rose Press, Inc.
PO Box 708
Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708
Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com
Publishing History
First Black Rose Edition, 2015
Print ISBN 978-1-5092-0271-3
Digital ISBN 978-1-5092-0272-0
The Alpha Council Chronicles, Book 2
Published in the United States of America
Dedication
To my readers, who mean so much to me!
Acknowledgments
First and foremost, my deep love and appreciation go out to Don, who is my rock when things get chaotic, and my good friends (as well as early readers) Barbara and Elizabeth. Their insights and feedback have been invaluable to me.
And last but most certainly not least, I owe my sincere gratitude to my amazing editor, Callie Lynn Wolfe, cover artist Rae Monet, and the wonderful staff at The Wild Rose Press for helping me share the Alphas with the world.
Chapter 1
Desperate to get home before sunrise, Marcus Botticelli tapped his foot on the steps of his friend’s front stoop where he waited for his car. He glanced down at his watch and noted the time.
We need to get going. Now, he thought as the limo stopped in front of him.
A familiar wrinkled face emerged from the vehicle and greeted him with a smile. Payton opened the door to the limousine as Marcus approached.
“Thanks, my good man,” Marcus greeted his trusted, faithful helper.
The two had been compatriots for the past forty years. The elderly gentleman, more friend than employee, did all the things Marcus could not do for himself, such as play designated driver and run errands in the daylight.
“Of course, sir. Where to?”
“Home.” Marcus tucked into the vehicle.
The vampire settled into the soft leather interior. Home, a funny word. His house wasn’t really a home. He’d left a real home to come live in Savannah.
Marcus loosened his tie and undid the top button of his black dress shirt while the limo pulled away from the spacious mansion. He missed Vegas, missed the life he’d had there, the woman he’d left behind. But she belonged to his sire now, and he thought it best to leave her and Sin City to Stephan.
Through the darkened window of his limousine, Marcus watched the world speed past. With a weary sigh, he leaned his head back against the seat and closed his dark eyes. Exhaustion weighed heavily on his body, thanks in part to the twists his life had taken as of late.
“The sun will be up in forty-five minutes. We need to get home, Payton,” Marcus, eyes still closed, instructed his driver. Although somewhat protected in the limo, thanks to special UV-proof window tint, it was still better to be safe in the protection of his home when dawn came.
“Have a nice evening, sir?”
Marcus gave a derisive chuckle. “I guess you could say that, if your idea of a nice evening out is attending a party that’s sole purpose is for you to find your heartmate. I’ve been swarmed by beautiful women all night, all of whom hoped to be my one true love.”
“I can think of worse ways to spend an evening,” Payton bantered as he swung the limo left.
“I really shouldn’t complain. These types of parties have their place, I guess. Too bad you never converted or you too could know the pleasure of a parade of women vying for your attention.”
It was Payton’s turn to laugh. “Even that could not tempt me to become a vampire.”
“Don’t knock it until you try it, my old friend. It’s pretty good work, if you can get it.”
“I’ll take your word for it, sir,” Payton said, while he slowed the limo. Marcus raised his head and looked out at the road. His eyes landed on a scene so gruesome it could have been part of a horror movie.
Cars and trucks piled the highway in crumpled heaps of color. A reddish orange glow from cars ablaze lit the scene. Marcus watched as people wandered around the site—some in a daze, others crying. A woman with wild eyes stood screaming at the horrendous scene, while a man and his child sat on the road holding their injuries.
“Where are the
paramedics?” Marcus sat forward in his seat.
“I don’t know, sir. Do you wish for me to call 9-1-1?”
“I’m sure someone has already done that, Payton. I’m going to go help.”
Payton’s gray brows drew down in concern when their eyes met in the rearview mirror. “But, sir, the time. It would be safer to stay in the limo.”
Marcus glanced at his watch then shook off the warning. “I have forty minutes. I can help. I’ll be back before the sun rises.”
With that, Marcus took off his suit coat, slipped his necktie from around his neck, and rolled up his black silken sleeves, ready to work. Exiting his limo, he took off at a human-paced run for the scene.
As he approached, the odors in the air overwhelmed him. The pungent diesel fumes from an overturned dump truck burned his nostrils. The gasoline from the cars mingled with the smell of burnt rubber left on the road by the skidding tires. Another scent permeated the air, one that his brain identified with ardent fervor.
Blood—the crimson nectar that sustained his kind.
Luckily for him, he’d consumed enough blood during the party to keep his fangs from extending in hunger. And yet still his mouth watered. Marcus swallowed.
He approached the first heap of metal with caution and noted the condition of the wreckage. The car, now a clump of twisted plastic and metal, was unrecognizable. Marcus saw a hand dangle lifelessly from a partially exposed arm that protruded from the steel square. Marcus reached for the wrist, wrapped his fingers around it, and touched the radial artery, confirming what the vampire already suspected, the occupant was dead.
A mass of metal burned next to the car, and flames licked the lifeless form inside, blackening it. With the person having no hope for survival, Marcus moved on, sending his senses out over the scene, in search of someone who needed help.
Suddenly Marcus saw movement out of the corner of his eye. His gaze swept the smoky scene, coming to rest on a figure barely visible through the haze. Given the slight build, he assumed the person to be a woman.
She must be injured, Marcus thought, noticing the river of red that ran from her head to pool on her shoulders. He carefully made his way toward her through the conflagration of distorted wreckage.
Chapter 2
White-hot pain tore through Christina Prescott’s chest. Her hands ached fiercely. She forced her eyes open and looked around in a daze, while her vision blurred with tears caused by the white chemical smoke that enveloped her. She made out a blurry shape of a white pillow before her. Was she in the hospital?
As the powdery smoke cleared, so too did the fog in her mind. Her senses slowly came online, and she realized she sat in her car. With a quick look around, she realized she’d been in an accident, the deployed airbag causing the smoke in her car.
Her nurse’s training kicked in, and she did a quick body assessment as she shifted each of her extremities one by one. Pain pulsed in her body from head to foot. No, make that head to toe, she decided, wiggling her ten little pigs. When she saw no bones protruded from her body, she palpated her abdomen, relieved to find it soft. Good, no internal bleeding, no harm to organs there.
With no sign of serious injuries, she unsnapped her seatbelt and tried to exit the car. She pulled the handle, but the door did not open with its usual ease. Christina gathered her available strength to push harder against the door, but it still wouldn’t budge. Slamming her fist into the bent steering wheel in frustration sent a fresh round of fiery pain throughout her body, and a sorrowful moan pushed from between her lips.
Just as she thought to scream for help, she noticed a figure gliding toward her. Christina wiped at her eyes with fisted hands, trying to clear the image from her vision. The dark form, with no discernible features, closed in. A strangely beautiful orange and yellow glow surrounded it, the smoke and moonlight making it seem eerily translucent.
Awestruck by the sight before her, her brain struggled to make sense of what her eyes registered.
Wait, that glow is fire. A blast of heat poured over her pained body. Her eyes stung, probably from the black smoke that surrounded her.
This was like a scene from a horror movie—one where the poor heroine had been dragged into hell. It certainly couldn’t be real. This must be a trick of her mind, or maybe…
No. It was too much for her mind to process. Surely it couldn’t be, but what else could explain the flames, the smell of burnt flesh, the pain that wouldn’t stop?
I died and went to hell, Christina thought while she tried to remember what she did in her life to deserve an eternity in purgatory.
As the shadowy figure closed in, its massive width blocked out the background from Christina’s view until only the ominous form remained. Her heart felt as if it would beat from her chest, pounding against her ribs in a furious rhythm.
Wait. Did one’s heart beat in hell?
Chapter 3
Marcus reached the woman in the car, relieved to discover the flash of red was the woman’s hair and not a pool of blood. He quickly assessed the situation. The car had been hit on the driver’s side, buckling the door inward. When he looked in the car to better see the passenger, his gaze locked with a pair of large emerald eyes.
“You’re not the devil,” the woman sighed with relief and leaned her head back against the headrest of her seat.
“Depends on who you ask, my dear,” Marcus quipped as he grabbed onto the door and yanked it from its hinges. He threw it aside as if it weighed no more than a Frisbee.
Marcus’ intense gaze raked her body, assessing her injuries with cold objectivity. “Are you all right, ma’am?”
“I think so, but for some reason I-I can’t seem to move m-my legs.” She ran her tiny hands over her thighs.
“That’s because they are pinned by the steering wheel. Here, let me get you out.” Marcus grabbed the wheel and, with little effort, pushed it back up to where the car’s manufacturer intended it to be.
“What’s your name?” He slipped an arm around the human’s back and the other under her thighs.
“Christina,” she replied in a shaky voice as he lifted her out of the wreckage, her weight no more consequential to him than that of a child’s. He carried her away from the other vehicles and placed her safely on the ground.
“You sure you’re okay, Christina?” Marcus stood over her, his large body shielding her much smaller one from the view of the carnage behind him.
The redhead left a black streak across her forehead when she wiped a hand wearily across her brow. “Yeah, I’m fine.”
Christina glanced around at the casualties. “We need to help these people. I’m a nurse. I can treat them, but I’ll need your help.”
The tiny woman futilely attempted to brush the dirt from her scrubs and assumed a nurse-like persona, looking surprisingly authoritative for one so small.
She stood, turning on her heels. Her first step landed on a wobbly leg. Marcus steadied her with a hand on her elbow when she swayed.
“You sure you’re okay? Maybe you'd better sit down.” He kept his voice low, calm.
It appeared to steel her determination like nothing else could. Christina locked her knees, as if willing them to support her.
“I’m fine,” she reiterated, her voice strong with determination. “Really. People need me, I have to help. Now please move. I need to go see to that man over there.”
Marcus dropped his hand and watched as she approached the first casualty she saw. A bone protruded from the man’s right thigh. His blood bubbled on the surface of his jeans where the femur cut through the material.
“I need a pair of scissors,” Christina mused, while she grabbed the bottom of the man’s pant leg and tried to pull the material apart to gain access to the wound.
“Here, I can do that.”
Marcus took the pant leg in both hands and ripped it up to the crotch. The coarse material tore as easily as a piece of stationery between his fingers.
“Thanks.” Christina eyed him
warily. “You sure made that look easy.”
A look of suspicious disbelief passed over her face in a moment so fast Marcus almost missed it. Using the ripped material, the nurse made a tourniquet and tied it around the man’s leg.
Eyeing the next patient, Christina ordered, “Come here, devil man, put pressure on this wound.”
A troubling sound made Marcus’ head snap up, his attention seeking the source. He turned his preternatural hearing toward the noise and easily recognized the keening tone over the wail of approaching sirens.
“I can’t. There is a child over there who needs my help.”
With one powerful leap, Marcus vaulted a car blocking his way. The child’s mother stood by her car frantically pulling on the door in a futile attempt to open it. Marcus knew she’d never get it open, for another car and a concrete barrier pinned the vehicle.
He laid a large hand on the woman’s shoulder. He made sure his baritone voice contained a calming compulsion when he spoke. “Excuse me, ma’am. Stand aside. I can get the child out.”
Marcus gently guided the young mother out of his way and, using his immense strength, pushed the car away from the concrete barrier. He opened the crushed door and extracted the screaming child, still strapped in his car seat. Just as he unbuckled the preschooler from the car seat, the sounds of screeching brakes and tires skidding along the road drew his attention. When he looked up, his eyes locked on a work truck.
The small truck, with a framework built onto the bed, carried typical handyman items, a ladder, basic tools, and buckets. But what pulled Marcus’ gaze were the three metal pipes attached to the top of the frame. The vehicle skidded sideways and slammed into a stopped convertible, causing the work truck to rise up on two wheels. The metal poles on the truck dislodged. They flew through the air like missiles of death. The poles headed toward the nurse who busily compressed the man’s thigh, completely unaware of the pipes careening toward her. Horror knotted his stomach.
He placed the preschooler safely in his mother’s arms and quickly used his powers of persuasion to erase her memory of the feat he had performed. Marcus called on his preternatural speed and strength to go after the nurse. Tensing his thick thigh muscles, he launched himself off the asphalt and hoped like hell he would make it in time.
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