Alphas in the Wild

by Ann Gimpel

  Sex would interfere.

  Tim ran until sweat streamed down his sides, despite the chill of an unseasonably cool June in California. A full moon hung low, clinging to the horizon. It was a lover’s moon. He cursed, drowning in irony. A lover’s moon, but not for him.

  He wasn’t surprised when he ended up ten miles north of Davis at the Druids’ priory. Despite it being three in the morning, he pulled the bell chain. Its somber chime matched his mood.

  The intercom next to the carved oak door crackled. “What business brings you here?” It was a standard Druid greeting, though the speaker sounded half-asleep.

  “I must see Liam. Now.”

  “Tim O’Malley. Is that you?”

  Tim blew out a ragged breath. “Yes. Let me in, goddammit.”

  A tone sounded, and the door swung open soundlessly on well-oiled hinges. A man he didn’t recognize hustled up the long hallway. “Master.” He inclined his head.

  “I’m no one’s master. Go back to sleep. I know the way.”

  Liam McAllister’s quarters were on the third floor of the rambling stone structure that had once been a Catholic monastery. Tim pounded up the stairs, his stomach so tight he wondered if he’d vomit. He’d just raised a fist to hammer on Liam’s door when it opened, and the Arch Druid stood before him. If the older man had been asleep, it didn’t show.

  “Welcome, son.” Liam held out his arms, but Tim shook his head. Without waiting for an invitation, he stomped into the spacious quarters lined with leaded glass windows on two walls. The moon mocked him, front and center in those windows.

  “You have to release me from my vows.”

  Liam drew his thick eyebrows together. “You must know I cannot do that. You didn’t take vows. You were born to your calling.”

  Tim spun to face the man who’d been like a father to him. Long, white hair framed his bearded face. Bright blue eyes radiated concern. The Arch Druid was tall—of a height with Tim—and wraith-thin. Black robes flowed around him.

  “But it’s not like I’m the Dalai Lama.” He took a breath to steady himself. “You don’t understand. I love Moira. It’s tearing me up that I can’t have her. Christ! I can’t even tell her why I can’t make love to her—or marry her.”

  Liam nodded slowly. He reached a kindly hand toward Tim. “Actually, you are a lot like the Dalai Lama. ’Tis the goddess who picks our progression. Would you care to sit, son? I believe a spot of spirits might calm you.”

  “Irish whiskey won’t solve this.”

  Liam made a snorting noise. “A dram of good Irish whiskey will solve practically anything. Or at least soften it till it feels more manageable.”

  He pulled a decanter close and poured amber liquid into two cut-crystal shot glasses, pushing one toward Tim. “You will be able to wed once your training is complete, and you sit in my place.”

  Battling frustration, Tim drained his glass. The whiskey burned going down. It matched the fire in his soul.

  He trained his gaze on Liam. “You don’t understand. That may have worked hundreds of years ago. Not anymore. Look at you. Goddess willing, you’ll live another twenty or thirty years. Maybe more. By then Moira will be long since married to another. Hell, she could be a grandmother.” He banged a fist on one of the tables scattered about the room. A lamp rattled ominously, and he reached to steady it.

  “Please,” Tim begged. “At least let me tell her why I can’t wed her.”

  Liam shook his head. “I cannot do that. The workings of our society have always been secret. ’Tis how we’ve shielded ourselves from the machinations of the Church.”

  “The Church isn’t still out to get us. Not actively, anyway.”

  Liam turned on him, blue eyes ablaze. “Thinking like that will land you in trouble. Have you not followed their exorcisms? Or their dogma? And ’tis not just the Catholics I’m talking of here. What do you believe clerics think of those like us who call magic, engage in astral travel, and commune with gods, spirits, and the dead?”

  Tim’s shoulders sagged. He felt like a sail with the wind knocked out of it, attached to a ship that would never find port. “That we were evil.”

  Liam nodded. “Organized religion’s raison d’être is to rid the Earth of wickedness. Moira is Catholic. She goes to confession. I tell you, son, we cannot risk it. ’Tisn’t been so very long since they killed one of us. Surely you recall Sean Newbry. ’Twas scarcely an accidental drowning. His astral self came to me whilst he was dying.”

  “And?”

  “The parish priest caught him in the midst of a blood offering ceremony, talking with Earth spirits. Sean was certain the cleric followed him since he’d taken care to go deep into the Sierra foothills.”

  Tim fought a sinking feeling. “You said drowning.”

  “Are you certain you want the grisly details?”

  “Yes.”

  “Four priests waylaid him late one night, bound him, gagged him, tied a heavy weight about his waist—”

  “Enough.” Tim sat heavily. He dropped his head into his hands and remembered what Moira told him about talking with Father O’Brannigan. What a fucked up mess this had turned into. He still cared about Druidry, but did he care enough to give up Moira for the rest of his life?

  “Tim?” Liam asked after a long silence.

  He looked up. “No matter how I slice and dice this, I don’t want to live without her. Hell, I don’t know if I can.”

  “I understand.” A considered intake of breath and Liam continued. “I gave you permission to attend medical school. That was a concession as I’d rather you were here by my side. Then you came up with that idea about a public health degree.

  “Mayhap it would be best if you didn’t see Moira—or even call her—at least for a while. Try to immerse yourself in your studies. Believe me, son, when I tell you the goddess takes care of her own.”

  A sob rose from the depths of his soul. Mortified, Tim tried to swallow the next one down. He stuffed a knuckle in his mouth and bit down hard.

  “’Tis all right. Life does not give us easy choices.” Liam got to his feed, walked around the table, and patted Tim’s back. “There is no shame in tears.”

  Forcing himself to return to the present, Tim took a deep breath, and then another. He wasn’t twenty-two anymore. He could stand up to Liam if it came down to it. He pulled open the side door to the clinic and went to the tiny staff room, where he knew he’d find the afternoon’s schedule posted. Despite reliving painful memories, he felt more alive than he had in years.

  The goddess had brought Moira back into his life. Things would be different this time. He’d see to it, even if it meant confronting Liam and walking away from Druidry forever.

  Chapter Two

  Moira didn’t remember walking to her truck or getting into it. As she drove south on Highway 395, her mind was full of Tim. Since she had the time—no way she could leave until John authorized it—she pulled off on a side road just past Big Pine and went for a walk. The desert, with the White Mountains to the east and the Sierras to the west, was dotted with sagebrush. A few late-season wildflowers were still blooming. In an uncharacteristic burst of silliness, she picked an Indian paintbrush and stuck it behind one ear.

  Her grandmother always told her Tim would come around, but Moira grew tired of waiting. He had secrets. Big ones. Every time he got that closed look that meant he wouldn’t answer her, a part of her shriveled and died.

  They’d started hanging around together even before high school. Things became more serious during college, but he hid behind a wall whenever she tried to get close. Slapped it up so fast, it made her head spin. And he’d never been willing to do more than kiss her, no matter how hot the two of them got.

  She remembered the haunted look in his eyes when she asked about living together. Or getting married. Or having kids. They’d had a really ugly fight one night. She’d said a lot of things she wished she could take back. Even accused him of being a closet gay. College graduation wa
s two weeks after that, and she hadn’t seen Tim in the years since. She’d tried to call him, off and on, for a long time, but he never picked up the phone or responded to the messages she left. She’d even written him letters where she apologized for her harsh words. They never came back, but he never answered, either.

  Moira stopped walking. Tears flooded her eyes. It was hard to believe the things he’d said earlier today. It sounded like he still cared about her, even after all this time.

  “This could be a slippery slope," she murmured. “I have to be careful.”

  The breakup with Tim spawned her first bout of food issues. The psychologist had explained it to her, but understanding didn’t make it go away. Her problems weren’t about eating, but about control. Since Moira hadn’t felt she had any control over her relationship with the man she loved, she’d exerted control over her body by refusing it needed fuel.

  It took many months to crawl out of that hole, but she had. Starting the Park Service job helped a lot. Ranger jobs were hard to come by. She’d beaten out over a thousand other applicants who applied for two available positions.

  Once she felt more competent, her appetite recovered, and she’d been fine.

  Until Ryan.

  Crap. There have been two men in my life. One wouldn’t ever fuck me, and the other one didn’t take the preacher seriously when he recited our vows.

  Moira kicked at a rock.

  Ryan Ravenshead.

  What was it about shamanistic men that drew her like a moth to a flame? For Christ’s sake, Tim was raised to be a Druid. And not just any old Druid. Grannie had whispered he was in line to be the next Arch Druid, master over the order. If he’d been a garden-variety Druid, she supposed they would’ve fucked like rabbits, gotten married, and raised a bunch of kids. All those Celtic holidays were full of sex. Like Beltane, for example. And Lithia, the high summer festival.

  Then there was Ryan. He was supposed to take over as shaman for his tribe, except he was such a lazy sack of shit, his father passed him over in favor of another. That hadn’t stopped him from practicing magic, though. Far from it. Except his spells developed a twisted edge once he knew he’d never be the tribe’s magic man. Even without any supernatural powers of her own, she’d felt their perverted taint in the air. And she’d heard Singing Bear castigating his son on more than one occasion.

  “Humph.” She shrugged. “Don’t suppose I’m going to solve that one today. Do we ever truly understand why we fall in love with anyone?”

  A ground squirrel popped out of a hole, stared at her, and chittered madly.

  She laughed. “If you know something about love, by all means spill it.”

  The furry creature dove back underground.

  “Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you off.” She squatted, looking down the hole. She’d never really loved Ryan, but she had been lonely. He’d filled a void and introduced her to sex. She’d been a virgin when she met him. If it wasn’t for that, she might not have been sucked into his web so easily.

  Straightening, Moira turned and walked back to her truck, surprised by how much better she felt. She pulled bread and cheese out of a cooler and made herself a sandwich to eat while she drove. It was easier to eat if she was doing something else. That way, food consumption was relegated to more of an automatic process, and her internal mavens didn’t predict gloom and doom for every crumb she swallowed.

  * * * *

  Tim spun the combination dial on the medication safe. That done, he walked out of the clinic and locked the dual dead bolts. With the recession in full swing, the clinic had been broken into regularly. The locks helped cut down on burglaries as did the alarm, which he set next.

  He caught a glimpse of himself in the side mirror of his car, not surprised he was grinning like a fool.

  It was pushing nine at night, but he wasn’t the least bit tired. His good humor had been so apparent through his afternoon and early evening clinics that several regular patients commented on it. So much so, he wondered how he usually came across to them.

  Not like a fellow in love, that’s for sure.

  Tim reached down to rearrange himself. His cock had been ecstatic to see Moira. It reminded him of that over and over by pushing uncomfortably against the front of his pants. Scrubs fit loosely and had a tie waist, but an erection was almost impossible to hide under them. He’d donned his long lab coat and buttoned it, once he understood he’d never be able to coax the damned thing into submission.

  He even ducked into the men’s room during the afternoon, hand curving around himself practically before he got the stall door closed. Shutting his eyes, he imagined Moira naked, her masses of golden hair falling in a tangle to her slender waist. Not that he’d ever seen her without clothes, but he could imagine what she looked like. His fantasy only got as far as closing his mouth around one of her nipples and feeling it harden under his tongue when his cock erupted in his hand. He’d thought that would hold him at least until the end of the day, but he’d started to swell again almost immediately.

  Medical school and residency had been real libido killers. Whenever his long-denied sexuality threatened to surface, he volunteered for another twelve-hour shift that often morphed into twenty. He hadn’t been able to control his dreams, though. In them, Moira kissed him, licked him, and fucked him with abandon.

  Tim started his car and headed for the modest two-bedroom apartment he rented on the western edge of town. His clinic job in Bishop was courtesy of the United States Public Health Service, and they didn’t pay much better than what he’d earned as a resident.

  Until Moira’s grandmother, a talented hedge witch, had died three years ago, he’d kept surreptitious tabs on Moira through the old woman, swearing her to secrecy. So he’d known about Moira’s relationship with the Indian, but not her marriage. Tim clutched the steering wheel in a death grip. It had taken everything he had not to race to her side after she took up with another man and beg her to reconsider, but he wasn’t any freer than he’d been the day she walked out on him.

  Not really.

  He nearly missed his driveway and hit the brake so hard his body lurched against the seatbelt.

  “Damn it!”

  He rubbed his collarbone, undid the belt, and got out of the car. He’d always been ambivalent about becoming Arch Druid. The dark side of magic revolted him. And the price of maintaining celibacy—and silence—until after his investiture was too high. It had cost him Moira.

  Though Liam finally gave him permission to find a life outside Druidry, it came with conditions. Liam’s heavy Irish accent still rang in Tim’s mind. “I expect you to return to us, son, once you’ve had a taste of the other world. I’ll not be dying till I see you seated in my place.”

  Tim trudged up the stairs and into his apartment. Despite everything, he still couldn’t believe his luck running into Moira again.

  I should have called—

  Yes, but I didn’t have anything better to offer her.

  That’s not what I told her today, he thought guiltily.

  His cell phone rang. Tim looked at the caller ID and felt his eyes widen. It had been years since he’d seen that number, but he’d never forgotten it. Could the call be coincidence?

  There are no coincidences, an inner voice reminded him. Everything is driven by the gods.

  He tapped the answer icon with fingers that weren’t all that steady. “Liam?”

  A familiar chuckle warmed him. “So you remember an old man, do you?”

  “Of course. When I saw the number, I was afraid—”

  “Someone was calling to tell you I’d passed beyond the veil. Not quite yet, son.”

  “Thank the goddess. I—”

  “Be quiet and listen. I told you I would let you return in your own time. That promise still holds, but I have had a sending. It came on All Hallows’ when the wards betwixt the worlds are thin. You are in danger. That woman you used to love is mixed up in this somehow.”

  An iron bar of tension se
ttled between Tim’s shoulder blades.

  No, not coincidence at all.

  He tried for decorum, but couldn’t stop the words from rushing out. “I saw Moira today for the first time in years. Please, Liam. I must be free to tell her what I am, and I must be free to wed her if she’ll have me. I couldn’t stand it if she walked out on me again.”

  Tim heard a weary intake of air. “We have been over this ground before. You’ll recall that I told you—”

  “I recall exactly what you told me. Liam, you need to hear me out. I love you like a father, but if I have to sever my ties with you and Druidry to have Moira in my life, that’s what I’ll do.”

  Tim’s stomach tightened. This was it. The confrontation he’d been avoiding for years. He sucked in a jagged breath. The inside of his lungs felt raw, as if he’d inhaled ground glass. “I’m scarcely a youngster anymore. By the time you were my age, you had four children. Or was it five?”

  “Aye, but I was Arch Druid.”

  “Not the point.”

  “You would turn your back on your heritage?”

  Well, would I?

  Moira flickered before his eyes. His golden girl, all hair and eyes and flashing temper. His ambivalence toward the destructive side of Druid magic rose to taunt him. He’d have to master it to sit in the Arch Druid’s chair.

  Still, it was hard to just say yes and be done with it. If he were brutally honest with himself, he always thought he’d move into Liam’s role—just a whole lot later down the line—and with Moira by his side. He bit hard on his lower lip.

  Why was Liam forcing his hand?

  No. I’m forcing his.

  “Maybe there’s some middle ground,” he began cautiously. “If I could tell her the truth and be free to...to do more than kiss her—”

  After a silence that was so long Tim looked at the display to see if they were still connected, Liam said, “If you bed her, you will be as good as wed. It will link your souls through all lifetimes. ’Tis part of the Arch Druid’s legacy.”