A Very Alpha Christmas

by Anthology

  “When do I start?” he asked, bracing himself.

  “Tomorrow night at the latest. She’ll only be in town for ten more days. We need as much on her as possible before she leaves the Cape and heads to her hometown for the holidays. If we determine she’s a code red threat, we’ll need to take her out here, where we have some control over any ensuing investigation.”

  Because The Protectorate had made sure years before that they had two beat cops on their payroll and one homicide detective under their control to avoid any inconvenient poking around.

  Fucking vampires.

  He swallowed a curse and schooled his features as best he could. “Roger that.” He rolled to his feet, shooting her a questioning glance. “We done?”

  Her gaze softened a little and her full lips tipped into a weary smile. “This isn’t meant to be a punishment, Gabriel. I’m not the enemy. I know it goes against your code to work this way, but we need to be hyper-diligent for a little longer. Just until things go back to normal.”

  Back to normal. Six months after two rogue vampires had murdered a family vacationing on the beach just a few miles from their headquarters. It had been the headline for weeks.

  The Bonfire Massacre.

  His stomach lurched at the thought of young Elliott Finster, who hadn’t seen his fifth birthday because of those animals, and wondered for the hundredth time if he shouldn’t just step back and let the vampire hunters have their way. Because, the ugly truth of it was, most of his kind didn’t deserve to walk this earth.

  He shoved back the thought ruthlessly and reminded himself of the reality of the situation.

  The dozen or so people each year who fancied themselves hunters were written off by the general public as crackpots and never made it very far anyway. No matter how much evidence they supplied, most human minds just couldn’t accept the thought of an apex predator in their midst, let alone hundreds of them. Better they remained in the dark, or true pandemonium would ensue. The handful of hunters that were actually capable of doing nightwalkers any damage were so few and far between, they would need to increase by a hundredfold to make true progress.

  But showy, high-profile murders got attention and, right after the grisly massacre, the conspiracy theorists had come out in droves. Among them had been one tenacious old bastard who had not only found their hive, but also scored a kill.

  What were the odds that he’d have hit them right in the heart?

  A shaft of pain lanced through him as he thought of his fallen comrade. Mellissande. Sweet and kind…the best of them all. Ezekiel’s lover. Irena’s sister.

  It was that, above all else, that had Gabriel reaching for the file folder.

  For better or worse, these were his people. Just because most of them were monsters, that didn’t negate his vow to protect the ones who weren’t. The few left who actually mattered.

  He steeled himself and nodded.

  “I’m on it.”

  He turned on his heel and cut a path to the door, palming it open and closing it behind him before letting out a muffled oath.

  Already, every muscle in his body was tense at the thought of spending the next week trying to get close to this new person of interest. After serving in several militaries on several continents in the past century, and using his preternatural strength to rip combatants limb from limb in some cases, one would’ve thought using his powers to seduce and coerce a woman into giving him answers he needed wouldn’t have bothered him.

  One would be wrong, though. There were certain things he just didn’t do.

  He closed his eyes as that all too familiar memory forced its way to the forefront of his mind.

  “Run, child. Run.”

  It would be one hundred twenty years come Christmas, and it still felt like yesterday.

  He swallowed hard and let his eyes snap open, swallowing hard again as a slick of nausea coated his belly as he made his way down the hall and toward the stairwell.

  When he reached the main floor leading to the Dark Side section of Club Nitris, he barely looked up as he cut across the room, blocking out the sounds around him. He had a dirty job to do, and the sooner he got started, the sooner he could put it to bed.

  When he reached his office, he closed the door behind him and sat at his desk staring at the file as if it were alive, a strange sense of foreboding causing him to hesitate.

  He poured two fingers of Scotch from the crystal decanter by his elbow and took a fortifying sip before cracking open the manila folder and scanning the contents quickly.

  Zara Matheson. Twenty-nine years old. Librarian. Never married, no children. Lots of community service references, a blue ribbon at last year’s Harvest Festival for Best Pumpkin Pie, and a clean background check.

  Squeaky.

  Clean.

  Which instantly sent Gabriel’s radar pinging.

  Usually there was something. A stint in rehab. A sealed juvie record. Some time in a mental institution or even just some kinky sex scandal. Any indicator that the person of interest was real and flawed and not just some shell.

  But not Ms. Matheson. In fact, she seemed to be a bona fide, flesh and blood saint.

  That alone had the back of his neck prickling. If she was such a sweetheart, then why the hell had she gotten Irena’s attention in the first place?

  He thumbed through to the next page, reading as he chewed on that bone for a while. After what seemed like a dozen pages of accolades for community service, and another dozen rehashing her academic and career accomplishments, he reached the first photo of the woman. The shot was taken in profile so he couldn’t see much, but what he saw jacked his pulse up double-time.

  Blonde.

  Like, crazy, sexy, platinum blonde that instantly brought to mind fifties pinups. Her hair was in a loose knot on the top of her head, but a few tendrils had escaped and brushed the collar of her black suit jacket. A suit that clung to every ripe inch of her like a second skin.

  What the hell kind of librarian looked like that?

  He flipped to the second of two pictures, and his whole body tensed. Even in print, she leveled him with a set of wide blue eyes and plump, raspberry lips, and a hot bolt of lust coursed through him as his fangs broke through his gums with a snap.

  Well, fuck.

  2

  “Don’t forget we have that party to go to tonight.”

  Stephanie tugged a loose tendril of Zara’s hair as she passed, her other arm loaded with a massive pile of books.

  Zara blew out a sigh and glanced up from her computer screen where she’d been lost in the comforting monotony of cataloguing.

  Party. Right.

  “Look, Steph, I—”

  “Nope. Nuh uh.” Her co-worker set the books down and wheeled around, a frown marring her cherub face. “You aren’t going to blow me off again. It’s been forever since you stepped foot out of that little tragedy of a shack you call a house. Enough is enough. If you don’t show up tonight, you can kiss this year’s Christmas babka goodbye.”

  Zara gnawed at the inside of her cheek for a long moment as she considered that. Parties were the worst even during the best of times. Now? The idea of gathering around while people made merry had her body aching from the inside out with exhaustion. She’d read that depression could cause physical pain, and now, she had no doubt it was true.

  She was hurting.

  She’d been hurting for months and it wasn’t getting better.

  Before she could form a reply, Stephanie was resting her elbows on the reception counter, her all too-perceptive gaze raking over Zara’s tell-all face.

  “I know it’s tough, Z. But it’s time. The longer you wait to take that first step toward healing, the harder it will be to take it. The world is going to just get bigger and more overwhelming and pretty soon you’re going to be one of those crazy cat lady’s they have to cut out of their houses when the neighbors smell the decomposing body or something. Nobody wants that.”

  Zara didn’t bother as
king for an explanation of why she would need to be cut out of the house in that scenario, because that would only encourage her friend to keep talking, and she was desperate to stop listening.

  Plus, the ugly truth of it was, Steph was right. It had been four months since she’d done more than go to work and back, and who knew? Maybe a bit of holiday cheer would shake her out of this downward spiral that seemed to never end, even if just for a little while.

  “Fine,” she said, saving her progress and logging off before forcing a smile. “Okay. But I’m only staying for one glass of eggnog and then I’m out of there.”

  Steph beamed and then clapped her hands.

  “Excellent. I’ll be right by your side the whole time. Whenever you want to leave, just say the word.”

  Zara nodded and shooed her friend off with a wave. “Why don’t you cut out a little early so you can start on the babka? I’ll shelve those books for you and then I’ll call you when I’m home and ready to go, okay?”

  “You know I don’t need to be told twice to leave early on a Friday, girlfriend.” The pretty brunette had her coat in hand before Zara could even reply. “I’ll talk to you in an hour or two.” She wheeled around and practically flew out the door like Satan himself was on her heels.

  Zara chuckled as she watched her go and then rolled back her office chair to stand, taking a moment to stretch with a groan.

  Next thing on her list of things to start doing again sooner than later? Exercise. It had been forever since she'd gone for a run. Maybe, if the weather wasn't too unforgiving tomorrow, she'd venture out.

  For the next forty-five minutes, she puttered around, taking her time shelving books and closing the library for the day, but her brain was preoccupied. It seemed almost too overwhelming to consider, but maybe it really was time. Maybe instead of just doing the bare minimum to appease her friend, it was time to start living life again for real.

  A sharp stab of guilt hit her straight in the chest and she sucked in a breath.

  Okay, so maybe not quite time. But she could at least leave the house and make an attempt.

  Baby steps.

  She peered around the room once more as she donned her coat, making sure everything was in its place and the coffee pot was turned off before flipping off the lights and closing the locked door with a snap.

  As she stepped into the night air, the cold blasted her in the face and she gasped, tugging her coat more tightly against her. It was going to be one of those blustery, Cape Cod winter nights. Usually, she would relish it. She’d go home, start a fire and boil a pot of chamomile tea, cozy up with a good book and let it carry her away from her tumultuous thoughts. Tonight, though, she’d have to brave the cold a second time.

  "Stupid party," she muttered as she made her way to her car. It was already on the early side of evening, the skies a deep smudge of gray. The eerie silence of the parking lot was broken only by the mournful howl of the wind and it sent a shudder through her.

  She tried to keep her gait steady and even, but her walk soon became a jog and the jog became a sprint. God, she hated the dark.

  By the time she reached her car, her heart was pounding and her hands were slick with sweat. She could’ve asked Mike the janitor to walk her out because she sure as hell felt better with a buddy, but the truth was, she was sick to death of being afraid all the time.

  Maybe it was time to face that too.

  Her cell phone buzzed from inside her coat pocket, jarring her from her thoughts. She unlocked her car and dove in, slamming the door behind her before tugging out her phone.

  She peered down at the brightly lit screen and frowned.

  Detective Rick Gleason.

  Her mouth went bone dry as she pressed the green button, accepting the call.

  "Hello?"

  "Ms. Matheson?"

  "Yes," she said, taking a moment to clear her throat and compose herself.

  She hadn't heard from the homicide detective in well over a month, and even then, it was only to tell her to stop calling him after she'd contacted him multiple times and gotten no response. He’d been kind about it, but very firm. If they had any new information on her father's death, she'd be the first to know.

  Which made his call tonight even more nerve-racking.

  "Yeah, look, I wanted to contact you personally." His tone was grave and apologetic and she braced herself. Whatever he was about to say, it wasn't going to be good.

  "Go on,” she managed.

  "We received a detailed report from that expert in Boston. At this point, we have no choice but to close your father's case and rule it as an accident. Their guy spent a month combing through the files and samples, and he concurs with our M.E’s findings. They both feel it’s clear that your father was killed by a large predator in the area."

  He paused and she could practically hear his gears turning as he tried to figure out a way to spin this into something positive.

  "This should be good news, Zara. Or, as good as any news regarding such a tragedy can be,” he corrected himself quickly. “There wasn't someone out there with malicious intent who wanted to murder him. There isn't a vicious serial killer on the loose, ready to strike again. It was just a terrible, tragic accident. He's still gone, but try to let the fact that we've left no stone unturned give you some peace."

  Peace.

  That was a nifty thought. But peace was the furthest thing from her mind.

  She clenched the phone so tightly, she could feel her fingernails cutting sharp half-moons into her palm.

  "Bullshit," she bit out, blinking hard as tears rushed to her eyes. "You know it's bullshit, Rick. No creature in the entire animal kingdom behaves that way. Wild animals hunt for food. They don't tear the fricking h-head off a—" Her voice broke and she sucked in a shuddering breath as the horror of what had been done to her father washed over her anew. She swallowed hard and pushed through. "They don't do that. So, tell me, what type of animal did this coroner say it was, exactly?"

  The silence that crackled over the line said it all.

  "He doesn't know, right? He has literally no clue. Not even a frigging theory, because nothing fits.” She slapped the steering wheel with her free hand, using every ounce of self-control in her possession not to start shouting into the phone. "If he can't explain it, and you can't explain, why is no one willing to accept the fact that we need to start looking outside the box here? Why is no one willing to open their minds and consider—"

  Rick cut in, his voice sharper than she'd ever heard. "Vampires, Zara? You want me to go to my Loo and tell him that we're being close-minded because we haven't given enough consideration to the possibility that a blood-sucking monster from a B-horror movie could be responsible for your father's death?"

  “Yes! Maybe.” She wet her lips as heat flooded her cheeks. "Or werewolves, maybe," she muttered miserably. "Something, Rick. Something...other." Her voice trailed off but she refused to give up so easily. They were long past the point of her worrying about whether or not he thought she was sane. They'd crossed that bridge a long time ago. But she wasn't about to let him just turn his eyes from the truth. Not without a fight.

  "I have something new,” she said, one tiny ember of hope still left, flickering in her stubborn heart. “I didn't show you because I wanted to wait until the results from Boston came in, but you really need to see this."

  "It's over, Zara," he said flatly. "That's it. I've been told by my superiors to close this case and cease all contact with you or risk disciplinary action. I can’t help you anymore. I got three mouths to feed and another on the way.” He paused for a long moment before continuing. "I’m sorry. I truly hope you reach out to some loved ones and get the help you need."

  He disconnected and she pulled the phone from her ear, reeling from this new and stunning blow.

  “It’s over, Zara.”

  She shouldn't be so surprised. It was only a matter of time, but damn it, she hadn't expected it to be so soon. She'd at least thought she'd
have through the holidays. Just a little more time with that tiny shred of hope left to cling to. Her lifeline to get her through her first Christmas alone.

  And now she didn't even have that.

  She was twenty-nine years old without a single family member left in this world. A hopeless, broken, terrified orphan.

  The sob that worked its way from her chest was ugly and raw, and burned her throat, but she refused to give in to it. Not until she was home and alone in her little cottage…the only place in the world that felt safe anymore besides her library.

  She tossed her cell phone onto the seat next to her and jammed her keys into the ignition.

  The party was obviously out now. Steph would just have to understand. Because tonight? Tonight, she was going home and getting rip-roaring drunk. Then, just maybe she'd have a shot in hell of keeping the nightmares at bay.

  She pulled out of the parking lot and onto the quiet, tree-lined street, swiping the tears from her eyes.

  "That which doesn't kill you, makes you stronger," she reminded herself as she ran through her conversation with Rick again. He could say whatever he wanted, but even he knew something was fishy. If not, he never would’ve fought for the second opinion. But everyone had their priorities, and Rick’s top one was his family.

  Well, she’d had a family too. Maybe not anymore, but that didn’t negate her responsibility to be an advocate for those she loved.

  This was just another minor setback. A roadblock she needed to find a way around. So what if the police wouldn't help her? She had a little money her father had left her. She'd hire a private investigator and she'd show them the proof she'd gathered. Once they saw what she had, they'd want to pay her to be part of her investigation team.

  She turned onto her street, jerking in surprise as her phone chirped again. She snatched it from the seat, hoping against hope that, just maybe, Rick had changed his mind.

  "Hello?"

  What happened next would replay in her mind on auto-loop for eternity. The feel of her tiny car as it shuddered and bucked in response to flesh colliding with metal. The squeal of brakes, applied too late. The sickening thud of a body hitting pavement.