Alpha Hunter

by Cyndi Friberg

  “Because that’s exactly what Nazerel expects me to do.”

  “Is this a conference center or something? This place seems huge.”

  He glanced beyond her, as if deciding what to say. “In a way. It’s the primary residence for our host, but he and his mate are seldom the only inhabitants.”

  Before she could unravel the implications of Blayne’s response, their host returned. Dressed in intricately tooled brown leather pants and a loose white shirt, he looked as if he belonged to another time rather than another planet. His features were refined, yet his eyes were somehow savage. Endlessly black and ringed in red, she’d never seen eyes…no, if the rings were blue rather than red, he would have eyes like Nazerel. Tension gripped her belly and she sank deeper into the chair’s padding.

  Blayne snapped to attention as the other man entered and swept his arm toward her. “This is Angie Logan, Lord Drakkin. We’re grateful for your hospitality.”

  Lord Drakkin. Should she stand and bow or something?

  Drakkin smiled and his voice gentled as he said, “Just Drakkin is fine. I don’t stand on ceremony in my own house.” He handed her a glass filled with a ruby-red beverage. “Sip this until the food arrives.” His tone rang with authority and the confidence of one used to being obeyed.

  Feeling awkward and stunned, she took the glass from his hand and drank. The beverage tasted more or less like wine, yet it had a spicy heat as well.

  “So fill me in.” Drakkin moved to one chair and motioned Blayne toward another.

  “Angie has only recently become involved in this, so don’t be surprised if she has lots of questions.” Blayne offered her a quick smile as he took his seat. Then he turned back to Drakkin. “As you likely know, the Shadow Maze was liberated with the help of one of their sweepers.”

  “What’s a sweeper?” Angie didn’t set out to prove Blayne’s point, but if she was the target of one of the Shadow Assassins, she needed to understand what all of this meant.

  Blayne didn’t seem annoyed by her question. He looked at her and explained, “The sweepers were Shadow Assassins with the ability to manipulate minds. When a female was ready for release, they would ‘sweep’ her mind, erasing the memory of everything that happened in the Shadow Maze. It kept them from returning and was supposed to make their transition back into the world above easier. This is all according to them, of course.”

  “Got it.” She crossed her legs and tried to appear relaxed. “Can I ask another question?”

  Blayne smiled, clearly amused by her politeness. “You may ask as many as you like.”

  She looked at Drakkin, who had been following their exchange with a lazy sort of humor in his gaze. “Why can you speak English? Have you been to Earth?”

  “I’ve been to Earth many times and speak seven Earth languages. My mate is not human, but we met on Earth. Can Blayne continue now or do you have more questions for me?”

  “Just one more.” Their courtesy was starting to border on condescension. Angie scooted to the edge of her chair and met Drakkin’s gaze. “If Nazerel is the bad guy, why does he look so much like you?”

  His head tilted and the rings in his eyes brightened. “Nazerel is one of the Shadow Assassins?”

  “An alpha hunter who has set his sights on Angie,” Blayne explained.

  “Many, if not most, of the Shadow Assassins are descended from Rodytes,” Drakkin told her. “Rodymia was colonized by a group of Bilarrian rebels many centuries ago. Though enemies now, we are genetic brothers.”

  She nodded acknowledging the information then motioned toward Blayne. “Sorry to interrupt. Please continue.”

  Rather than waiting for Blayne to go on, Drakkin summarized, “Last I heard, the occupants of the Shadow Maze had been taken to the City of Tears for retraining and assignments within the Ontarian military. What went wrong?”

  “The rank and file soldiers had more freedom and better living conditions than they were used to in the Shadow Maze, so they adjusted easily. For the hunters and sweepers, however, it was a big step down. They had less authority and less freedom, which quickly led to discontentment.”

  “What became of the sweepers? Surely Overlord Lyrik didn’t try to assert authority over rebels with the ability to control minds.”

  Blayne shook his head, his gaze drifting frequently toward Angie. “The sweepers were taken to the Conservatory for assessment and retraining. Most have acclimated quite well.”

  Angie followed most of the terms they tossed around either through context or previous exposure, but this was the first she’d heard of the Conservatory. “What’s the Conservatory and why was that a safer place for the sweepers?”

  “The Conservatory is the primary training facility for Ontarian Mystics,” Drakkin told her.

  And Blayne was a Master Level mage. That must have been where he’d been trained.

  “We’re not sure if one of the alpha hunters contacted the Rodytes or if the Rodytes contacted one of the hunters, but their alliance is unmistakable,” Blayne continued. “And there are strong indications that their Rodyte contact is—”

  “Sevrin Keire,” Drakkin predicted.

  Blayne nodded. “Her interest in reproducing Mystic abilities in ungifted individuals is well known.”

  “To say the least. She’s even more obsessed with the concept than was her father.” Drakkin crossed his legs and gazed out the window for a moment. “So when and how did the hunters end up on Earth? Are all the rebels hunters or did they convince some of the regular soldiers to follow them.”

  “All of the rebels are hunters, but not all of the hunters rebelled. Our one advantage is their relatively small number. Each alpha hunter took four of their most trusted hunters and they are operating as separate teams.”

  “And Sevrin Keire commands through the alphas.”

  “That’s our understanding.”

  Drakkin stroked his chin, apparently lost in thought.

  Blayne looked at her and smiled. “Feeling better?”

  She nodded. She’d finished the wine, but there was no obvious place to set the glass.

  As if summoned by her discontent, someone tapped on the door.

  “Enter,” Drakkin called, sounding suspiciously imperious.

  A slender woman with dark blue hair wheeled an ornate gilt cart into the room. She kept her gaze down and said nothing. Did Drakkin demand this sort of subservience from all of his…servants? Or were they slaves? A cold lump formed in the pit of her stomach. Surely worlds so highly advanced wouldn’t tolerate slavery.

  “Melina,” Drakkin waited until the woman looked up. “Bespata rin.”

  She glanced up then right back down, then muttered something Angie couldn’t understand. Drakkin responded, the woman nodded, and then hurried from the room.

  “She’s new and still terrified of everyone,” Drakkin explained. “Her past situation was extremely unpleasant. We’re hoping she will learn to trust us.”

  Angie wasn’t sure who he meant by “we” and “us”, but she was seriously relieved by his attitude. His comment made it seem less likely that Melina was a slave.

  “The food is for you,” Drakkin reminded. “Make yourself at home.”

  Pushing to her feet, Angie found her legs nearly stable. A faint pounding began in her temples, but she managed to remain upright. She lifted the hinged top of the cart and looked at the mini-buffet that had been arranged for her. Surely she wasn’t expected to eat all of this. Smaller dishes had been arranged upon a large tray, each dish contained a different offering. Cubed fruits and sliced cheeses, miniature sandwiches, and an assortment of finger foods. Though many of the colors were unusual, the texture and arrangement of the snacks made it relatively easy to guess how each was meant to be consumed.

  She picked up one of the empty plates and selected a little bit of everything. Three decanters had been arranged at one side of the tray. One contained a bright red liquid. “Is this what I was drinking before?”

  “It’s
called blood wine.” Drakkin chuckled when she cringed. “So named for its color, not its ingredients.”

  After refilling her glass, she returned to her chair and balanced the plate on her knees. “Thank you. This looks delicious.”

  Drakkin inclined his head then looked at Blayne. “You mentioned a potential danger. Is it possible these hunters will follow you to Bilarri?”

  “Highly unlikely. Even if they guess that Bilarri was our destination, they don’t have the manpower it would take to search the entire planet.”

  “And not even you can track an interdimensional shift.” Blayne nodded as Drakkin’s gaze shifted back to Angie. “Do you realize you have latent abilities?”

  She looked at Blayne then back at Drakkin. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Blayne said you were some sort of specialist, that you’d be able to remove whatever Nazerel left in my head.”

  Emotion flashed through Drakkin’s gaze, but she didn’t know him well enough to decipher the expression. He looked at Blayne and then remained silent so long she became suspicious. “If you’re talking about me, say it out loud.” She set her plate aside, but kept her wineglass.

  “The Shadow Assassins are divided into four teams,” Blayne told her. “Each team has a logistical designation. Team North, Team South and so on. We located Team North’s house and captured four of the five members. We also found a notebook with detailed dossiers on potential targets. Nazerel didn’t just happen upon you. He studied your dossier and sought you out.”

  She paused for a long sip of wine, enjoying the slow burn in the pit of her stomach. “What landed me in that notebook? I’m nothing special. Why am I a target?”

  “Your father was Ontarian.”

  “Yeah right.” She rolled her eyes and took another drink. “My father was a deadbeat who drifted in and out of my mother’s life just often enough to get her pregnant.”

  “How old are you?” Blayne asked. “Twenty-five, twenty-six?”

  Tension banded her chest and her fingers tightened around the stem of the wineglass. People usually guessed her younger, in fact quite a bit younger. She continually got carded in the casinos. But what did that really prove? She shrugged with an indifference she didn’t feel. “Tori told you how old I am. What does my age have to do with anything?”

  Blayne sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I didn’t want to get into all of this all at once, but it all ties together.” He paused as if to organize his thoughts or construct a convincing lie. “Ontariese was ravaged by a war that made your Civil War seem tame. At one point a biological weapon was released that targeted females. As a result—”

  “Why would anyone create a biological weapon that targets females? Don’t Ontarian females carry your young?”

  “That was the point,” Drakkin took over. “Ontarian society was traditionally matriarchal, but the Reformation Sect wanted to change the way things were done, so they tried to wipe out all the females not willing to accept their new ideals. Unfortunately, the inoculation meant to protect Reformation females from the poison didn’t work and females from both sides of the conflict died.”

  “It left Ontariese with approximately one hundred men for every woman.” Her panic must have shown because Blayne quickly added, “That was at the end of the Great Conflict. The ratio is better now. However, it’s still disproportionate.”

  “I’m sure there’s a reason you’re telling me all this, but I don’t see the connection.” If every Ontarian male wanted a baby factory, Blayne was going to be just as disappointed as Nazerel.

  “Multiple strategies were necessary to secure a future for the Ontarian people. One strategy was to identify other humanoid races that were compatible with our physiology. Humans are one of only three species our scientists found.”

  “So Ontarian males came to Earth and impregnated as many human females as they could?” She set her wineglass down beside the chair, afraid she’d throw it at his head. “How is that any different than what the Shadow Assassins are trying to do?”

  Blayne leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “The government-sanctioned program requires the females’ complete cooperation. Most were relocated to Ontariese. Your mother had to have been the victim of a renegade.”

  “How comforting.”

  Despite her sarcasm, his tone remained even, his expression calm. “Twenty-nine years ago, I was part of a retrieval squad sent to locate the renegades and take them back to Ontariese for prosecution. We thought we were the only ones who knew about the renegades, but apparently Sevrin Keire found out about the program as well. I haven’t verified every case, but likely the notebook we found in the Team North house is filled with offspring from the renegades.”

  “Why weren’t the victims told? They had a right to know they’d been seduced by an alien.” Hearing her own words made mirthless laughter bubble up inside her. Stubbornness alone kept her outwardly composed.

  “Most already knew or at least had some idea that their lover had been…different. A basic physical examination of the offspring wouldn’t reveal any abnormality, but certain blood tests would have produced highly unusual results. Didn’t your mother ever take you to a doctor? It’s remarkable that neither you nor Tori had any idea your father was Ontarian.”

  Angie pushed to her feet. “Our childhood was about survival and then Mom’s illness pushed everything else aside.” She didn’t approach him, was too agitated to remain still. “And by the time Tori brought me to Las Vegas neither of us wanted anything to do with doctors or hospitals. Watching someone you love die of cancer can do that to you.”

  “So the only one who knew the truth was no longer able to explain.” Drakkin pressed his fingertips together as he stared across the room.

  “That’s not exactly true.” Angie waited until he looked at her before adding, “My father knew.”

  The distinct thud of a door swinging shut disrupted the rapidly growing tension. Muffled voices drew nearer, but Angie couldn’t understand the words. Someone pushed open the library door and a stunningly beautiful woman stood framed by the threshold. With mauve-streaked silver hair and shimmering lavender eyes, the woman was shockingly familiar.

  “Aria?” Angie could barely force the name out past the lump in her throat.

  “Angie!” Aria dropped her shopping bags and rushed forward to hug her friend.

  Chapter Three

  “This is unacceptable.” Nazerel ground out the words between clenched teeth as he surveyed his new surroundings. Rather than disrupt Team West’s routine entirely, Nazerel had moved Team South into the unfinished basement of the Team West house. Military-style cots had been arranged in two rows perpendicular to the concrete walls, an aisle down the center. His cot, identical to the others, had been set up slightly apart, closer to the stairs. At least in the Shadow Maze they’d each had their own room. No, the hunters and sweepers had private accommodations. The soldiers had lived in conditions very much like this. But his men were hunters. They were used to authority and power. They deserved better.

  “It’s temporary,” Zach reminded him. “Your men know that.”

  He nodded. The housing complication might be temporary, but nothing had transpired as it was supposed to since they arrived on Earth. Sevrin had promised them freedom, yet all she’d delivered was excuse after excuse.

  “So where did you stash Angie?” Zach looked at him expectantly.

  Nazerel tensed. No one knew his hunt had failed and he was determined to keep it that way. “Not here.”

  Zach nodded then motioned toward the stairs. Nazerel fell in step behind him as they returned to the main floor of the large house.

  After being corrected several times, Nazerel reluctantly shortened the other alpha’s name from Zacharous to Zach. Sevrin wanted Nazerel to shorten his name as well, but he refused. He was not human and he had no intention of pretending otherwise. He was stronger, faster, and more powerful than a human. Why would he want to pretend to be a lesser being?
It made no sense.

  They emerged between the kitchen and dining room. Two of Zach’s men stood at the kitchen counter, attempting to follow a demonstration video on a tablet computer. None of the hunters had been responsible for food preparation before and Sevrin had declared a lockdown until further notice. If they wanted to eat anything other than pizza or Chinese delivery, someone needed to learn how to cook.

  Nazerel followed Zach up the front stairs and into the master bedroom. The Team West house was similar to the one Nazerel’s team had been forced to desert. Situated not far from the Strip in Las Vegas, it was a lavish two story with five bedrooms and a three car garage.

  “If you need privacy, I can have a couple of my men double up,” Zach offered as soon as the door shut behind him. “Personally, I think the females will submit faster if we utilize the old rituals. If both our teams watch while you claim Angie, it will leave no doubt in anyone’s mind that she’s your mate.”

  “Human females are different. They’re taught to be independent and self-sufficient. It will take time and patience to erode her defenses.”

  “Many animals must be broken before they’re fit to ride.”

  Nazerel just grinned, unwilling to admit the truth even to Zach. “You tame your mate however you like. Angie will not be subjected to a public spectacle.”

  “I have to find mine first,” Zach grumbled. “And that’s going to be hard as hell while we’re in lockdown.”

  “Hunting is about stealth and subtlety. This lockdown is yet another way for Sevrin to control us.”

  “I’m as frustrated by this setback as you are,” Zach began. “But the fault lies with Allenton not Sevrin.”

  Nazerel glanced around the sparsely furnished room as he began, “I’m frustrated about a whole lot more than this setback. Can’t you see what Sevrin is doing? She has no intention of ever giving us papers so we can truly blend into the human population. Without papers, we’re limited to menial jobs that pay next to nothing. And without a decent income, we will remain dependent upon her for everything.”