by Willow Wilde
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Table of Contents
Title
Punished By The Alphas
More From Willow Wilde
Punished By The Alphas
Before every hunt, I always took the time to reflect on my past. Call it a ritual, if you want. It felt cleansing to my soul, as if it somehow forgave some of my sins for the things that I had done…and the things that I continued to do.
Letting the engine of my motorcycle thrum to a low idle, I kicked down the support and pulled at the light chain around my neck. I quickly tightened the fingerless, leather gloves over my hands before popping open the locket with a slip of my thumb.
A fingertip from my free hand slid lovingly across the glass frame. It was the only picture of my parents that I had. I gazed upon my father, with his strong jawline and thick brunette hair, smiled a winning smile — while my mother laughed radiantly at something off-camera. They had been high school sweethearts, and this picture had been taken a few weeks before their graduation. They looked so young, so full of life. They wore the faces of people who had not a single care in the entire world.
That was before everything was taken from them. Taken from me.
Snapping the locket shut as I slipped it back against my skin beneath my tight-fitting top, I pulled the leather jacket around myself tighter. Within seconds, I was back on the highway, my eyes dead ahead on my destination: Greenpaw Mountain.
Overpowering my own tension was easy with the motorcycle between my thighs, thrumming loudly and powerfully. Weaving between cars as I swapped lanes like discarded lovers, the rush of the wind filled my veins with euphoria. This was the part of what I did that I truly loved. The fresh air, pelting over me as I sailed across the highways — I had always felt stifled driving a car, breathing the same general air. No, I liked it free and wild, rippling around my body as I surged down the interstate. The smells, too — being in the cities was usually a cacophony of gaseous, industrial mess, and I generally tried to spend as much time outside of them as I could. Once I hit the road and passed across long stretches free of chemical plants, refineries, and factories, I felt alive again.
My fingers tightened around the grips as I wove a particularly narrow turn between two cars. The driver on the left had been holding up traffic with the self-entitlement complex I saw seemingly every few minutes on the road. You would always see these better-than-thou folks closing off the passing lane, despite it being illegal in many states. They thought it was their duty to run the speed limit and prevent speedsters like me from breaking the law.
I turned my helmet to face the left driver as I sailed between the cars. She was glaring indignantly at me, a skinny little twerp no older than myself.
Hate to burst your carefully manicured bubble, sweetheart, but I break a whole lot of laws.
As I put her in the rear view of my side mirror, I glanced quickly towards the sun. On the horizon was the very cusp of sunset, the colors already beginning to change into their beautiful array of oranges and reds. I knew that they would look particularly beautiful over the plains, as I’d seen this sort of grand, eye-filling canvas before. With a heart full of anticipation, I felt a certain sense of peace overcome me.
This is where I belong, I thought to myself. In tiny moments like these — quiet, beautiful, and free. This is what I really live for.
With that mantra in mind, I focused on the road to come. I had another forty-five minutes of driving ahead, and plenty of time to absorb the setting sun during the final leg of my journey.
* * * *
Under the heel of my boot, I knocked down the kickstand to my motorcycle in the police department parking lot. Removing my helmet, I shook my long, curly hair free — it had been a long drive, and I was ready for a little refreshment.
But there was work to be done first.
With my head held high, I strolled into the small, quaint front office of the police department. Behind the desk was a lowly attendant, an elderly, miserly croak without an ounce of verifiable muscle beneath his thin glob of skin.
“Welcome to the Denham Police Department. How can I help you?” His raspy voice rumbled out.
“I’m here to speak to the police chief,” I answered calmly.
“What is the nature of your visit?”
With thinly-suppressed exasperation, I reached into my pocket and whipped out my badge. Flipping up the leather, the silver emblem of my profession immediately widened the clerk’s eyes, and he lifted the phone and punched in a few numbers.
“Yes, there’s someone to see you…yes, that’s her…right. Okay.” He set the receiver back down and turned with a glum face to regard me.
“Third door on your left, straight to the back. Sounds like he’s mad, though,” the clerk warned me. “He’s not in a great mood these last few days. I hope you can change that.”
“It’s not my job to care,” I explained. Before the sentiment could hang in the air for long, I reproached myself — I was more professional than this. Thoughtfully, I quickly added, “I’m sure I can alleviate some of his concerns.”
The old, haggard clerk smiled a slimy but almost endearing smile, and I shoved the picture out of my head as I followed his directions. The building was small, with tiny walkways and rooms the size of closets. There were enough filing cabinets to build shelter from a storm, sometimes walls of the things. How they kept track of everything, I have no idea.
As I knocked on the door to the freestanding office in the back of the main work area, with a dozen pairs of eyes on me, the sheriff greeted me at the door and closed it behind me.
“You’re late,” he muttered angrily. “I don’t like late.”
“You also don’t like werebears, to my understanding,” I answered. “When the highways lock up with construction in the middle of the goddamn day, my specialty whittles down to meeting one of those criteria. Would you rather punctual, or would you rather efficient at killing werebears?”
A short, stout man with a thick brush of mustache, he grumbled quietly and sat himself behind his desk. It was filled to the brim with stacks of important-looking documents, and I took my seat in the guest chair, opposite from him.
“So, you’re here to help with the whole “werebear” thing, huh?” He scratched at his thick whiskers. “How was the drive?”
“Long. Tiring.” I replied. “I’m going to have to rest before I try to track this guy down. Got a good place in town?”
He grumbled again, stroking his thick bush of a mustache. “Nothin’ too fancy for a city slicker I reckon, but yeah. We got a small motel here in town. Easy to find. One of the last buildings before the trails. Place by the name of Sandy’s.”
I smirked lightly. “City slicker? What is this, Nevada circa 1850? City slicker,” I almost laughed to myself. “I try to stay out of the cities as much as I can. I like the open road. Your quaint little motel is probably going to do the trick for me.”
“Splendid,” he remarked, ignoring my derision. “So, what’s the plan? How’re you gonna tackle this one?”
“Same way I do all of them,” I answered. “All were go down the same way. Silver bullet’s the efficient choice — clean, immediate, with a good shot, and permanent. I’ll track this guy down and put one between his eyes if I can help it. Then I’ll call you, and you can bring your boys up and take care of things.”
He hesitated briefly, and I zeroed in on it in the instant.
“What? Is there something else?”
“They didn’t tell you?” He patted at his neck with a handkerchief. “It’s not one werebear…it’s a whole pack of ‘em.”
An eyebrow raised. Well…that’s different.
“Define pack.”
“We’ve confirmed three, but we think i
t might actually be four,” he explained. “They travel as a small clan, and they’ve been causing mischief together in the woods. Maiming hikers and just causing a big old fuss. You’ll have to take care of all of them.”
“Why didn’t you tell them it was four?” I demanded to know, crossing my arms angrily.
“I did! I told them at least the three.” He was nervous now, and he seemed small and pathetic. “I told them to send their best werebear hunter to take out a whole pack.”
“I hate liars.” My eyes were boring into his, and he shrank a little under my angry gaze. “My superiors don’t know a goddamn thing involving multiple targets for this assignment. You could have fucking jeopardized me…and what do you think would have happened to you if these shifters found out you sent a Hunter after them, hmm? You’d be maimed in your goddamn sleep.”
“But they don’t come into the city,” he weakly responded, patting at his sweat again. I became aware again of how small this office was, and this entire police department as a whole. If this backwoods son of a bitch seriously thought he could pull a fast one over a Hunter with over three dozen confirmed were kills, he had another thing coming.
“Funny thing about shifters…they’re a little unpredictable when you seriously piss them off. A botched assassination attempt probably falls into that category, but hey, your funeral. Well, both of ours, if you had your way.”
Silence hung in the room like thick, oppressive humidity. But it didn’t bother me — the fire was directly under his ass.
“So, are you still going to kill ‘em?” He finally asked meekly.
Impatiently eager to wrap things up and get away from this idiot, I sighed and shook my head. “You understand that my rate is for one. If you want me to take out four, it’s gonna cost you. There’s considerable danger in trying to take down an entire pack together…if I’d known this before, I would have called in some backup,” I chided him.
“I know I’ve fucked up, and I’m sorry. If you need to wait for others to show up, then that’s on me. I just want them gone as fast as possible, but I didn’t think you’d be in any more danger than usual. I’m…sorry. I should have thought things through.”
My eyebrow raised as I listened to his pathetic little spiel. With some consideration to my response, I mulled over my thoughts and let him squirm across the desk from me before finally opening my mouth.
“No…I like to work alone. And I’m efficient at what I do. They definitely sent you the best they have…and it’s about time I had a serious challenge. One Hunter against four shifters on their own turf…guarantee me four times my rate for each bear, and a little on top for pissing me off, and I’ll bring you their furs.”
The sheriff peered sideways at me, a frown stretching across his face. “I don’t know if we can afford that, that’s a pretty substantial sum you’re asking for.”
I rose from my chair, extending my hand. “Well, either it’s that, or you figure out this little problem of yours on your own. You’ve already fallen into our bad graces…if you aren’t willing to meet me halfway, then pack up some guns and head out there yourself. Good luck shooting them with regular bullets. It’ll take a lot more than one to take ‘em down…”
He rose up with me, eying my extended hand with some disdain. “How am I supposed to argue with that? I’ll find a way to scrap the money together.”
“See that you do.”
His hand shook mine, and the deal was set.
* * * *
Early the next morning, I paid out at the motel and hit the road again. With the proper preparations set, and confident in the selection of weaponry in my hunting backpack, it was time that I tracked myself down a werebear shifter pack.
I stowed away my motorcycle at the edge of the woods, opting to walk the trails unimpeded by the loud, thrumming engine. I knew that I wouldn’t find them anywhere near the initial treelike, and took to hiking the trails and ascending the first major hill within sight. From there, I had a vantage point, and could begin to determine their likely movement patterns — perhaps even where they killed.
Of course, I knew the truth. The shifters likely did not kill any hikers. There was an unspoken law among shifter kind to never kill humans, and I was somewhat familiar with these parts. These shifters were probably not the culprits of the slayings that the sheriff suspected — he probably considered all bears in the area shifters, and that was certainly not the case.
But that didn’t matter so much to me. I had a duty to perform the work I had been contracted to do, and the pay was going to be extraordinary for killing a whole pack at once.
I began to wander down a trail, keeping my eyes alert for any signs of bear activity. While they didn’t coexist exclusively, werebears in isolated packs like this one tended to intertwine with the regular bears, and finding the native population usually led me in the right direction for my hunt.
I would love to be able to say, at this point, that I came across some scratchings against the trees that gave me a solid lead. Hell, I’d settle for having to come back out several times over the week, until I finally spotted activity and snuck up on one of the bastards. But neither of these, nor any other reasonably believable circumstances of my job, actually happened that day.
Because the shifters knew I was coming. I’d somehow been careless, or perhaps one of them had spotted me in my brief time atop the hill. Even on my guard, I barely heard a branch snap behind me before my world went black as I fell crashing to the ground.
* * * *
It was hours before I regained consciousness. Ignoring the pounding in my head, I fought through the haze of grogginess and slowly opened my eyes. My vision was filled with a blinding, orange light, and I focused on the crackle of the roaring fire. As my eyes adjusted to the light, I realized that I was alone in a dimly-lit cave.
Well, not alone per se. I could barely make out several forms further up, towards the mouth of the small cavern. Their voices were trailing down towards me, and while I couldn’t distinguish the words, I knew that they were speaking animatedly.
Trying to move my arms, it dawned on me that I was tied up, slumped with my back against the wall. Thinking quickly, I started to maneuver myself against the wall, reaching down to try and withdraw the knife that was always concealed in one of my boots — sheathed and ready for moments like this.
Fuck! It’s gone!
“It looks like the little shifter traitor is awake now,” I heard. Struggling to maintain my composure, I glanced up angrily at my captors, who were now just on the other side of the fire. There were four of them — all rugged, shirtless, and gazing upon me with an odd spectrum of curiosity and tranquil fury.
“I’m not like you. I’m not like any of you!” I practically spat in a venomous rage. “Don’t you dare compare yourselves to me.”
“You can try to deny your true nature,” one of them spoke, stepping closer, “but you can never bury it. It will always loom in the darkness, waiting for you.”
“Shut up!” I growled. “You don’t know what you’re fucking talking about!”
“Do I not, Hunter?”
My lips went silent, and I glowered in fury.
“That’s right…we know exactly who you are.” This one was clearly the alpha among them, speaking for the rest. They nodded quietly behind him, their piercing green eyes all locked onto my own. “You are the most dangerous of the entire order, for you are the shifter who turned on the rest. The one who tracks and murders her own kind. We have known about you for a long time…and we prepared ourselves for the day that you would come, Lira.”
“You don’t have the right to speak that name. Let me go.”
“Why did you betray us all, Lira?” The alpha asked calmly, his animal side placated for now. “What drove you to dedicate your life to exterminating the rest of us?”
I stopped struggling against the bindings. The vines were strong, full of life even after their removal, and I had been stripped of any blades within grasp. Bi
ding my time, I considered the options and quickly decided to play their little game.
“My parents,” I answered. “Murdered by shifters.”
“You know that isn’t true,” he answered. “Every shifter in North America knows of Erek…of his valiance, and his dedication to protecting his town. Your father was the greatest shifter among our entire kind, and what happened to you was a tragedy…but we do not murder our own kind.”
Silence filled the air as I restrained my anger.
“Not until you came along, that is.”
“I don’t know who the fuck you think you are, but you have no idea what happened. You weren’t there. I WAS. And I saw them, both of them…draped across the forest floor, dripping in their own blood…shifters standing above them…”
