The Alpha

by Cynthia Carole

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  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and events are fictitious in every regard. Any similarities to actual events and persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. Any trademarks, service marks, product names, or named features are assumed to be the property of their respective owners, and are used only for reference. There is no implied endorsement if any of these terms are used.

  THE ALPHA

  Copyright © 2009 CYNTHIA CAROLE. All rights reserved worldwide.

  ISBN Not Assigned

  Cover Art Designed By Anastasia Rabiyah

  Edited By Traci Markou

  Published by Purple Sword Publications, LLC

  www.PurpleSword.com

  Except for review purposes, the reproduction of this book in whole or part, electronically or mechanically, constitutes a copyright violation.

  The Alpha

  A Cedarville Novella

  By Cynthia Carole

  For my mother, because she believes in things that go bump in the night.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Deanna gulped down the triple-shot latte, ignoring the burn of scalding hot espresso and foamed milk going down her throat. Exhaustion slumped her shoulders, but she needed to keep alert. Awake. Somehow. She tossed the cup in the trash as she opened the door. The sleigh bells jingled from the handle. A blue-grass song coming over the café’s radio tempted her to come back in, sit down, and put her feet up on the chair next to her. Relax. Who was she kidding? The second she sat down she’d clunk her head on the table and pass out. But she couldn’t stop, didn’t dare, not when she was being hunted.

  Now I’m the prey, the rabbit huddling beneath the bushes hoping that the hunter will pass on. Just pass on.

  She glanced up and down Main Street. Main Street! How quaint was that? The green sign outside the city limits had named the place Cedarville—just an average rural town, surrounded by wild forests and wedged between a national park and the jagged snow-capped peaks of the Cascade Mountains. Cedar and dew, along with the smells of cut grass and brewed coffee mingled in her nose, bringing with them the urge to run free, go past the human scents, and flee into the pristine wilderness. She pushed aside her instincts. Changing to four paws right now would not free her from pursuit and would probably only bring her death that much sooner.

  As she stepped onto the sidewalk and into the foggy morning light, she tried to see Mt. Baker to the north but the haze distorted everything behind tattered, drifting veils. The pale orb of the sun behind the mist hinted that the vapor would burn off as the day grew older. She hoped so. All this grey was causing her vision to blur.

  A flutter caught her attention, and she glanced up to see a banner strung across the street with pennant flags in red, white, and blue—a Fourth of July picnic was only days away and the air, despite the fog, lingered warm and promising on her bare arms.

  Tears stung her eyes as she stood on the sidewalk, swaying with fatigue. She was so tired. Driving day and night would do that to anyone, even her, but she didn’t know what else to do. The last time she had gotten a motel room, he had found her. She closed her eyes, remembering the dark shape stalking across the parking lot in Oregon—her head jerking back, the smell choking her through the partially open motel window.

  How was he following her? His tracking sense was far and beyond anything she had ever known. Perhaps her heartbeat called to him.

  A wave of dizziness hit her, and she rested a hand on the roof of the Mercedes sedan she had borrowed from her grandmother. Well, perhaps borrowed wasn’t the right word. Inherited. Pain clenched her stomach, and memories threatened to overwhelm her. Oh, Nana, I failed you. She blinked back the stinging moisture. But I won’t fail my brother. I won’t let the monster have him too.

  “Ma’am, are you all right?” She turned to see a tall man in a brown uniform approaching, the star on his broad chest and the gun on his belt were superfluous—everything about him screamed authority. His scent reached her nose as the breeze stirred the damp air.

  Wolf.

  And not just any wolf—he was an alpha, a packleader. She could feel the power radiating as his aura brushed against hers and her own wolf wanted to lie down and expose her belly. Her human pride straightened her spine and she met his gaze. “I’m fine. Just passing through.” The formal words notified him that she posed no threat to his pack.

  The air crackled between them. His eyes flashed gold even in the muted silvery light of the foggy morning. A big man with narrow hips and long legs, he didn’t need the magnetism of his wolf to hold her gaze. He was too handsome for his own good, and not playboy handsome either. He had the rugged outdoors look, like a cowboy from an old western. She clenched her teeth to keep from closing her eyes and putting her metaphoric tail between her legs. She looked down though—resentfully. Alphas always expected other wolves to grovel.

  “Passing through?” he asked, his tone cool and yet polite. She could feel the bulk of him standing in front of her.

  “Yes,” she answered and gazed at the well-swept sidewalk. If she wasn’t staying in his territory, he shouldn’t bother her. She wasn’t his concern.

  “All right. If you want, you can stay at the motel up the road. It’s not a bad place.”

  Like a king giving her permission to stay in his lands. Her fists clenched at her sides. All alphas were the same. Nodding without looking up, she kept eyes on his shoulder to show her submission. She fumbled with her keys. They clattered to the asphalt, and she silently cursed.

  “I don’t think you should be driving,” he commented, watching her as she bent to grope at the ground.

  She wished he would go away. Why did he have to hover? His presence unnerved her. He smelled of wild things—forest and pack—and also human things, like soap and shaving cream. The combination made her knees weak.

  “Good thing it’s not your business,” she replied.

  She dropped the keys again.

  He caught them just before they hit the ground, moving in a blur of controlled speed. Now he was close enough for her to feel the heat coming off his body. Her nipples tightened and warmth centered in her belly.

  She fought the urge to step closer, to run her hands over his broad shoulders and snuggle up against the male perfume of his overheated skin. She wanted to rub herself against him, damn it. She knew he could smell her arousal. Her cheeks burned, but she lifted her chin, holding out her hand. “Can I have my keys, Sheriff?”

  His hazel-gold eyes crinkled at the corners, the only sign of his amusement. “I’m afraid not, Ma’am. I can’t, in good faith, let you drive in your condition.”

  He hit the button on her keys and took out the canvas duffel bag from the backseat.

  “That’s illegal,” she said, her eyes drooping. “You can’t do that!” Had the woman in the coffee store given her decaf? Or had she just reached an overload on caffeine? She had been living on it for days—ever since, well, ever since. She closed her eyes to fight against the tears. Poor Nana! I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.

  She swayed on her feet, and he caught her with one hand. He helped her to his Jeep, his smell surrounding her, protecting her. Mumbled protests escaped her mouth, none of them making much sense. As soon as she sat down, her eyes closed, and the snap of
the seatbelt was the last thing she was conscious of.

  * * * *

  Jackson Creed radioed the license plate, make, and model of the girl’s Mercedes to Arlene. He also dug through her bag—illegally—and called in her driver’s license and address. Sage, California? Sounded like a small town to him, but you never could tell with California, it might be some huge suburb for all he knew. He also found a Blockbuster card, a cell phone, and a picture of three people standing in front of a pale blue lake with mountains in the background. On the back it said—Me, Nana, and Chris at Mono Lake. He couldn’t help but wonder who the dark-haired man in the photo was. Chris.

  So, she was a Californian, but he knew that from her plates. She was also a werewolf, and she reeked of fear. He started for the motel near the highway, passing the touristy rows of shops, cafes, and the ice cream parlor on Main.

  Jackson chewed on the inside of his cheek. He had a pack to protect, and a town to look after, so really the girl’s problems were not his and the sooner he got her out of his town the better. So why was he turning around? He flipped a quick U-turn on the empty street and headed north instead. He drove home just as the sun broke through the fog and lit up the thick pines on the rising slopes to the east.

  The girl slept with her head slumped and her mouth slightly open. Her thick brunette hair blew about her face as the wind came in through the open windows of the Jeep, and her skin glowed soft and gold with a light tan—a color one didn’t get from a tanning bed or lying in the sun. Of course, he didn’t know a werewolf who liked to work in an office cubical, so she probably spent part of her days outdoors. He glanced at her delicate face, pink lips parted and a thick fan of lashes dusting her blemish-free skin. A faint hint of freckles dotted her cheek. Lust stirred in him, but also a fierce protectiveness.

  He sighed. She was a stranger, not a part of his pack. He should just leave her at the motel and hope she passed on through town. He could be endangering the others—what had frightened her so much, anyway? Whatever it was that could send a healthy werewolf running into exhaustion, it couldn’t be good.

  Reason aside, he found he couldn’t help himself. He wanted to help her. He needed to help her. Something drew him to her—like a fly to a bug zapper, he growled in his head. Damn it, Creed, you’re thinking with your dick.

  Turning off the two-lane highway, his Jeep shuddered on the gravel road. The sunlight flickered through the tall evergreens, like a strobe light flashing gold, as the stones churned beneath the wheels with a growling crunch. The girl jostled around in the leather seat but didn’t wake. Jackson shifted in his seat. What was it with this girl? Why hadn’t he been able to drop her off at the motel and forget her?

  She was pretty, sure, but so what? He couldn’t endanger the pack because he wanted to get laid. Besides, one night stands got complicated when werewolves were involved. Wolves had a tendency to mate for life—and he wasn’t ready to get to know the girl that well.

  His cabin came into sight as he pulled into his long, private driveway. While arguing with himself, he hadn’t even slowed down. It seemed she was coming home with him, whether he thought it was a good idea or not.

  He parked and turned off the engine, the sudden silence drawing a soft snort from the girl, but nothing else. Her face remained lax with sleep. As he carried her in, beneath the wild climbing roses that grew up over the front porch, he thought how good she felt in his arms. Lithe and yet soft in just the right areas.

  He laid her on the bed in one of the upstairs guest rooms, her hair dark against the white comforter.

  “A wolf! And female.” Margy poked the girl gently on the shoulder, her wavy silver hair falling about her face and her blue eyes crinkling with laugh lines. “What’s the matter with her? Did you drug her?” She frowned at him, though her suspicious tone was less than convincing.

  “You think I would do that? I’m in law enforcement, for God’s sake.” He wanted to brush back the girl’s hair from her face, maybe run a finger over her cheek to see if her skin was as soft as silk, but not with Margy watching him. He shoved his hands into his pockets.

  Margy laughed. “So what’s the matter with her?” She fussed around the girl, checking her neck and her forehead. “She looks on her last leg, poor dear.”

  “I found her in town ready to pass out. Her plates and license say she’s from California. She’s probably been driving all night.”

  “To get here?” Margy’s eyebrows went up. He knew what she meant—who would want to get to Cedarville?

  “I don’t think so. She said she was passing through before she fainted.”

  “Fainted!”

  His radio buzzed and he answered, walking into the hall. A fender bender outside of town needed his attention—it seemed the occupants couldn’t agree on whose fault it was. He leaned back into the room.

  “Can you keep a watch on her? I don’t want her left alone, and I gotta run.”

  Margy pursed her lips. “I’ll call Isabel right now. She can look after my shop. Don’t worry.”

  Jackson gazed down at the girl. She was small and thin, but definitely well shaped beneath her black jeans and fitted white T. His body stirred again with both lust and protectiveness, and he felt his wolf wake inside.

  Mine, the wolf growled silently. Mine.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Warm and cozy, Deanna fought against waking. Sleep enfolded around her with the comfort of forgetfulness, and she didn’t want to let her drowsy peace escape. The blanket rubbed on her arms, soft and thick, and the sheets felt silky beneath her lounging body. Was it a school day? Didn’t she have a class to teach? She tried to think, her dreams mingling with reality until memory struck her like a hammer to the head, and she sat up gasping.

  “I like you,” the creature whispered in her ear as his fingers dug into her shoulders. Cold penetrated through her sweater, as if he held ice to her flesh. He reminded her of a Greek statue, white and heartless, and yet beautiful in structure, too perfect to be human. He leaned closer, his eyes pulsing scarlet with the pounding beat of her heart, and his bloodless lips smiling, slow and stretched.

  Swallowing back a sob, she tried to free herself from the grip of the nightmare. She glanced around at her surroundings, not seeing anything for a moment but those vicious eyes. Slowly, reality came back. Where was she? Outside the small window, the sky was cobalt blue with silhouetted black treetops jutting up to meet the first glimmer of stars and a nearly full moon. She could feel the pull of the silver song, but she resisted. Not now. Not tonight. Tomorrow she would have to change though. She sighed and continued her inspection.

  She could smell the Sheriff. His scent lingered in the air, but not enough to mark the room as his own. The simple furnishings, a double-sized bed with a white comforter, a dresser, a mirror, and the lack of personal effects told her she was in a guest room. A guest room in his house?

  She heard voices from the floor below her. They spoke too quietly for her to make out individual words, but one was her Sheriff and the other was a woman. Her Sheriff? She bit her lip. He was certainly not hers!

  Climbing from the bed, she found her body rested. How long had she been asleep? Too long, probably. Much too long. She stretched the kinks out and noticed her duffel on the floor. It was open, and she remembered how she had told him that he couldn’t search her bag. He didn’t seem too concerned about the law, though that was the way alphas were. They thought everything belonged to them and didn’t hesitate to take it.

  Rummaging through her things, she found some old jeans—soft and well worn—and a black T-shirt and she changed quickly. Her eyes caught on her cell phone, and she picked it up. She had turned it off yesterday, mostly to stop her brother’s unending calls. He was furious at her for running, but if she had stayed, he would be dead by now. She stared at the dark screen and sighed, her thumb over the power button. Should she call him? She chewed her lip and dropped the phone back into her bag. Later. She’d do it when she was on the road.

&nb
sp; The voices silenced when she opened the door, but she knew they had heard her every step across the wooden floor. Werewolves had excellent hearing. She went into the bathroom across the narrow hallway, the green-tiled room definitely not where Sheriff Hot Body shaved or showered. The small bottles of hotel soap and travel shampoos gave off a generic feeling. This was a common area, used by many. The smells caught in the rug and hand towels were varied, men and women, tinged with the faintest musk of werewolf.

  The cold water on her face made her feel alive again, and a brush through her hair pulled out the tangles, though her dark brown strands still begged for a shower. Ah! Wouldn’t that be heavenly? But it would have to wait.

  After drying her face, she stared into the mirror, drops still clinging to her cheeks and chin. Like tears. She looked too pale, slightly pinched with circles beneath her eyes. Not exactly super model caliber. She bit her lip to add some color, but castigated herself for caring. The green of her eyes was shot with a gold ring, the wolf rising inside her for tomorrow’s full moon. Oh, how badly she wanted to race out into the forest and let the cool breeze tug at her fur and see the world through the uncomplicated instincts of her alter self. Tomorrow. Under the transforming gaze of the full moon, she would run at least one last time.

  A simple ponytail neatened up her hair and a towel dried the rest of the water off her cheeks. A quick brush of her teeth, and she was as clean as she could be under the circumstances. No point in doing much else.

  She slung her bag over her shoulder and headed down. The house had the appearance of a large cabin, with a wood paneled interior and stairs like hewn logs. The wide steps came down into an open, cathedral-ceilinged living room. A river rock fireplace dominated the space while a Navajo rug covered the floor and the overstuffed leather furniture faced the fire. No TV was in sight. The overwhelming smell of werewolf raised a warning over her taut skin, like static gathering in electrified air. She paused mid-step and gazed about the room, her hand clenched on the railing.