Alpha: An Urban Fantasy Novel (War of the Alphas Book 3)

by SM Reine

  Helicopters swept a few blocks away, skimming the streets with blazing spotlights. The OPA was still looking for Stark and Deirdre. They were close, but not close enough.

  It didn’t matter if the OPA discovered where Stark was hiding. He had a high-rise filled with shapeshifters in their super-powered animal forms, and they were smack in the middle of vampire territory at nighttime. Weak as vampires were, they were strongest at night—strong, and thirsty.

  No human OPA agent would be stupid enough to attack Stark that night.

  Stupid, stupid Stark.

  Deirdre dropped her coat to the roof and stepped onto the edge. The view of the street so many hundreds of feet below was dizzying. Nothing stood between her and a very long fall.

  She spread her arms, wiggled her toes over the edge.

  Her daddy, Alasdair Tombs, had always said that she was a graceful girl. He’d said that she moved like she could fly. Maybe he’d meant it literally. He could have known something about her that nobody else had. He was her father, after all.

  Deirdre wanted to fly.

  But now that she stood in the chilly rain, she couldn’t summon the fire that had licked over her flesh earlier, much less an animal form. She just felt cold. Like nothing had changed since she died in the asylum, killed by a woman that Deirdre had considered her closest friend.

  Phoenix.

  That was the word Stark had given her for her animal. Deirdre had never heard of such a thing before. It sounded like some kind of mythological bullcrap—but then, didn’t dragons seem just as fake? And it was impossible to deny Melchior’s existence.

  What if she jumped? Took a headlong dive off the side of the building and trusted that she’d find her wings before pancaking on the pavement below?

  She’d come back from two deaths already. Risking a third would be tempting fate.

  Deirdre stepped back to the relative safety of the roof, feeling sick and disappointed and exhausted.

  There was nothing she could do about the transformation. Not yet. But she might be able to do something to help Stark with the election, even if he was determined not to participate.

  Deirdre pulled her cell phone out. It was a burner, a cheap device she’d picked up earlier that day when Stark was making plans with January Lazar. She dialed Rylie’s phone number.

  Someone responded on the fourth ring.

  “Hello?” That wasn’t Rylie’s voice. It was a young woman—or maybe a boy, it was hard to tell.

  “Who is this?” Deirdre asked. “I need to talk to Rylie.”

  “This is Benjamin,” he said. “Who are you?”

  Benjamin was one of Rylie’s numerous children. He was ten years old, a mundane human by some fluke of genetics that had spared him from being born a shifter. “This is Deirdre Tombs. Your mom gave me this number to reach her personally. What are you doing answering it?”

  “Her bedroom phone rang,” he said. “She’s not home.”

  Of course she wasn’t. She might have already been on her way to the United Nations.

  “Can you tell me how to reach her?” Deirdre asked.

  “Uh…I better not. Dad says he doesn’t want Mom talking to you anymore, and also that he’s going to kill you the next time he sees you.” Benjamin added that part matter-of-factly, as though murder threats were normal behavior. It probably was when both of your parents were werewolf Alphas.

  Rylie’s mate, Abel, had been kind to Deirdre the last time they’d met. Apparently his opinion of her had changed rather abruptly.

  Steal one enchanted sword and suddenly Deirdre was unpopular.

  Who would have thought?

  She hung up. There was no point in trying to convince Benjamin to get Deirdre in touch with Rylie. He was just a kid, and this fight wasn’t his.

  Rylie Gresham had made time to talk to Deirdre when she wanted something out of her. Now that Deirdre wanted something out of Rylie, the Alpha was inaccessible. She wouldn’t pick up her phone.

  Hot anger filled Deirdre.

  Stark had said Rylie would be at the United Nations, so Deirdre would be there, too.

  She pocketed the phone and climbed up on the edge of the roof again. The UN building wasn’t visible from where she stood, though she knew where it was. It would have been underneath the moon, over behind the skyscraper that blocked her view. Not a very long walk.

  An even shorter flight.

  Deirdre spread her arms and shut her eyes.

  Stark said that she was a phoenix. A firebird. She should have had wings.

  But the moon was high in the sky, shining with brilliant rays that pierced the clouds and bathed her in milky light, and she still wasn’t changing.

  “Why?” Deirdre asked the moon.

  It didn’t have a response for her.

  The long night passed. New York City’s gaean energy swelled and ebbed like the ocean. Everton Stark felt the shapeshifters transforming across the city one by one, their animal forms blinking into existence the way that the stars appeared after sunset.

  But even once the last of the shifters in New York had shed their humanity, Deirdre Tombs was still human.

  And that wasn’t going to change. Not that full moon, and not on any other moon. It didn’t seem to matter how many times she’d died. She was still an Omega.

  Stark watched her for a long time from the shadows at the rear of the roof, standing behind an air conditioning unit that rumbled so loudly that it masked the sound of his motions. He had plans to make, allies to gather, a wife to murder. But for the moment, he couldn’t seem to draw himself away from the rooftop.

  He had watched Tombs burn. He had put her into the oven himself.

  Yet here she was, standing on the edge of the roof, arms spread and coat lifted by the wind.

  She was alive. Breathing.

  Still very much a puzzle.

  Stark forced himself to turn from Tombs, taking the elevator back down to the lobby. The high-rise was tall. Very tall. And the elevator was slow. He had plenty of time to think about Deirdre Tombs on the way down to the lobby, distracted by the enigma of the woman and the things he wasn’t sure he wanted to do with her.

  He wasn’t so distracted that he failed to notice someone waiting for him in the lobby.

  Vidya had escorted the shifters into the higher floors, so the lobby should have been empty. But now a man stood near the front doors, surveying the burned smear on the ground that used to be Chadwick Hawfinch.

  “Stark,” he greeted.

  Stark clenched his jaw. “Lucifer.”

  He wasn’t certain if Lucifer’s name was the one given to him at birth or a codename. Many people assumed pseudonyms when entering the mercenary profession.

  Either way, it described him perfectly.

  Lucifer was truly the morning star. One of the deadliest gaeans that Stark had ever known, and easily the most powerful vampire in New York City. He was the kind of pale that came from staying out of the sun for a decade. His skin was the color of the scorched desert earth, his lips a few shades paler, his irises a few shades darker.

  There was blood caking his fingernails. Stark wasn’t interested in how that had happened.

  “It seems you’ve killed my favorite supplier,” Lucifer said, nudging the body with his toe. “I’m not sure how I feel about that.”

  “He sold me out to the unseelie.”

  Annoyance twisted Lucifer’s mouth. “Color me unsurprised. Have you broken into the stock room of lethe yet?”

  “Not yet. I will.” Chadwick Hawfinch had been smart enough to apply extra layers of security on the room where he stored lethe, but Stark was confident that he’d be able to penetrate the wards given enough time.

  “I want half of the drugs,” Lucifer said.

  Stark’s eyes narrowed. “Why should you have any?”

  “Because I’m going to help you win the election.” Lucifer strolled around him, arms loose at his sides, motions graceful. Stark could tell that he was prepared to draw a
gun. Even vampires needed silver to slaughter a shifter. “I’ve heard that your allies are avoiding you. I can bring them back into the fold.”

  “They’re avoiding me because they don’t want the unseelie to kill them,” Stark said. “They’re putting their bets on the unseelie murdering me before I have time to track down and murder them. They’ll all die if they don’t return to me.” He didn’t think that would be necessary. They would come to heel as soon as he took care of Rhiannon and Melchior.

  “You have all the leadership nuance of an atomic bomb, as always,” Lucifer said.

  This was coming from the vampire who kept his flunkies jacked up on lethe so that they couldn’t rebel against him. “I can handle everything on my own.”

  “Clearly.” Lucifer flashed elongated canines when he smiled thinly. “You’re an addict who just killed the most reliable supplier of lethe to New York City. You’re handling things great.”

  “Should I have let him live after his betrayal?”

  “Everyone betrays everyone else. Don’t act so wounded. We’re all only out to help ourselves.” Lucifer pressed a button on the Behexed. A stream of blood trickled into his mug. “You need to win the election. If you don’t, then the unseelie will, and we’ll have a bigger problem on our hands.”

  “Always about this damn election,” Stark said.

  “Not taking it seriously? Hmm. That’s funny. Because I’m sure the unseelie are. They didn’t have a clear path to victory until that idiot Alpha volunteered to start elections.” The Behexed finished, and Lucifer pulled the mug out. He wafted the scent of the blood toward his nose. “What do you think will happen when the unseelie have control?”

  “Nothing. They won’t win.” Because of Deirdre’s incessant yammering, Stark knew that he was a close second in the polls, and the unseelie didn’t rank. Most people didn’t realize the unseelie would even be eligible to hold the Alpha position.

  “Once the unseelie have power, they’ll ensure they can keep it by eliminating all opposition who present a genuine threat.”

  “Then the vampires have nothing to fear,” Stark said.

  Lucifer’s thin smile vanished. “I want you to win, Everton. You don’t care about the vampires and that means you’ll give us room to grow. Subsequently, I’m going to restore your allies so that you can kill the unseelie queen, and you’re going to give me half of Chadwick Hawfinch’s stock of lethe in return.”

  “I don’t plan to run in the election.”

  “It’s too late for that.” Lucifer sipped from the mug of blood. He licked the stain of crimson off his upper lip. “I hear you’ve run through your second Beta in as many months.”

  Stark was on Lucifer in an instant.

  He slammed the vampire into a wall, pinning him using a hand in against throat. Lucifer felt fragile under Stark’s grip, dusty and dried out and brittle, like he might snap in half with just the right amount of force.

  “The only way you could know my Beta died is if you heard it from the unseelie,” Stark growled.

  Lucifer was relaxed in his grip. A smear of blood marked the corner of his mouth. “A vampire’s venom is almost as intoxicating as lethe. My boyfriend is highly ranked among the unseelie. He tells me things.” A faint smile. “I’m sure he’d tell you things too, if we were friends.”

  Stark didn’t have friends. He didn’t need friends.

  “Why would you help me if you’re involved with the unseelie?” he asked.

  “My boyfriend is loyal to Ofelia Hawke, the true queen,” Lucifer said. “He’d love it if I helped take Rhiannon down. See how this could help all of us? Everyone can be happy if you and I cooperate.”

  Stark considered this information. “I could use an informant, but I’ll only give you twenty-five percent of the lethe.”

  “I also want to be given special privileges when you’re elected as Alpha,” Lucifer said. “An opportunity for the vampire faction to grow undisturbed.”

  That was an easy thing to promise, considering Stark couldn’t be elected if he didn’t run for the supposed office. “Fine.”

  “Then we’re in agreement,” Lucifer said smoothly.

  Stark stepped back. Lucifer straightened his collar, wiped his thumb over the corner of his mouth, sighed deeply. “You only get everything if you bring back my allies in time for me to assault the Winter Court,” Stark said. “I want them here, in this building, in three days’ time. If you can’t do that, you get nothing.”

  “Don’t worry about me,” Lucifer said. “I have plans.”

  He took a sideways step into the shadows.

  With a flurry of darkness, Lucifer vanished.

  V

  Deirdre wandered the streets of New York alone. Even vampire territory was quiet on a full moon. A shapeshifter in his human form was an equal match for a vampire; once in his animal form, the vampires didn’t stand a chance at survival.

  She had never felt lonelier than she did that night, following the full moon as it peeked at her from between the buildings.

  Niamh would have seen the humor in the situation. She probably wouldn’t have even understood why Deirdre was so upset that she could set fire to things but couldn’t turn into her animal—whatever it was, phoenix or dragon or a really feisty Bic-lighter-shifter.

  But at least Deirdre wouldn’t have been alone. At least she wouldn’t have had to dwell in her thoughts, her memories, and the things she couldn’t remember.

  Like what had happened after she died.

  Again.

  There was a noise from the end of the street. A shout. A scuffle.

  Deirdre wasn’t alone after all. A woman was being pulled into an alley by a pair of vampires.

  She was kicking wildly, but she obviously had no self-defense knowledge, and she was helpless against their preternatural strength. She flailed uselessly as only a mundane person could.

  Deirdre stooped at the mouth of the alley to snap a leg off of a discarded wooden chair. All gaeans had a singular elemental weakness—iron for the sidhe, silver for shifters—and vampires were cursed with the most pathetic of all the weaknesses: wood. Poke them in the heart with a stick and they fell to pieces.

  The victim kicked helplessly as they dragged her into the shadowy depths of the alley. They were removing her from street view before doing whatever vampires did best, probably.

  “Hey,” Deirdre snapped. “Drop the mundane.”

  The vampires turned at the sound of her voice.

  “Hell,” one of them breathed. “It’s her.”

  She spread the sides of her jacket to expose her underarm holster. The stake jutted out of her fist. “Am I getting a reputation? Don’t tell me. You guys are big fans of January Lazar.”

  “No, I’m a big fan of you.” Deirdre was so shocked when the male vampire shook her hand that she didn’t even think to pull back. It felt like shaking hands with a fish in a grocery store refrigerator. “My name is Vince, and it’s such an honor, Miss Tombs.”

  “Ms. Tombs,” she corrected automatically. Her urge to be a smart-ass overrode even the strongest sensation of shock. “How have you heard of me if not from the news?”

  “I do follow the news. It’s just that I’m your fan—I don’t like January Lazar,” Vince said. “But the benefits office. Wow. It was great. And that documentary about life in the asylum with Stark—wow.”

  “Documentary?”

  “The one that came out yesterday,” the female vampire said. “On YouTube.”

  Stark must have done something with the footage that Andrew had been filming at the asylum. Deirdre hadn’t seen any of it. She could only imagine how it would make her look.

  Her life would probably be a lot happier if she tried not to imagine it.

  “So if I tell you to leave this woman alone, you’ll leave her alone?” Deirdre asked.

  The vampires exchanged looks. Deirdre couldn’t tell what breed the male one was, but she suspected the female was a vrykolakas, judging by the ruddy skin and
shaggy hair. A Greek vampire. They really got all types in New York.

  “It’s just that she’s with GCD,” Vince said.

  Deirdre had no idea what the GCD was. “I don’t care if she’s with the OPA or the NFL or any other three-letter organization. If she’s not trying to kill you, then you don’t get to try to kill her. Let’s be a little more civilized than that, huh?”

  “But we’re against the GCD.” He said this with the tone of someone worried that there was a hidden camera recording the conversation, like it wasn’t possible that Deirdre was serious.

  She made a shooing motion with her hands. “Go find someone to drain. I’m sure there’s a volunteer spread-eagle at Original Sin with your name on him as we speak.”

  “I am pretty hungry,” the vrykolakas muttered.

  Gods, they were pathetic. Deirdre was confident that her former roommate, Jolene, could have done far better if she’d unleashed her predatory side. These things were shriveled, underfed, and pale—hardly any kind of threat.

  “All right,” Vince said.

  He tugged his vrykolakas companion down the alley.

  Deirdre lifted the woman out of the trash. “Thank the gods you found me when you did,” she said, clinging to Deirdre with a little too much familiarity.

  It wasn’t until they got to the nearest street light that Deirdre realized whom she had rescued. “Mallory? You’re Mallory. You’re the witch from the safe house. What are you doing in vampire territory?”

  “This is where you ditched me,” Mallory said. “You—you just left me here, like three hours ago. Five hours ago. I don’t know.”

  “Then what are you still doing here?”

  “You were running really fast when we left the safe house. I have no idea where I am. Where else would I go?”

  “Somewhere, anywhere, outside of vampire territory in the middle of night.” Deirdre glanced at the moon. She didn’t feel any urge to howl at it or shapeshift or anything else. She was probably safe to hang out with a helpless witch. “Okay, let’s find somewhere safer for you to be.”