Alphas Unwrapped: 21 New Steamy Paranormal Tales of Shifters, Vampires, Werewolves, Dragons, Witches, Angels, Demons, Fey, and More

by Michele Bardsley

  Every one of them had their own version of normal.

  Bernie grinned from ear to ear. One big happy.

  Disappointment stabbed Tristan at witnessing unbridled joy. He didn’t begrudge Bernie some well-deserved happiness, but no one waited for Tristan.

  He preferred it that way.

  Keep telling yourself that.

  He’d fallen for a woman once, only to have her stab him in the back. One day he would hunt down Elaine “Mac” Mackenzie, the one who’d sold him out for a thousand dollars.

  That’s all his freedom had been worth.

  She’d done it the day after they’d spent the night together for the first time.

  She would answer for every hellacious year he’d endured living alone and like an animal.

  Tristan scrubbed his hands over his face, dismissing things that were out of his reach. For now. “Be ready to leave in an hour, Bernie.”

  “You can’t go that soon. You normally need a full day after flying a double.”

  “Well, that’s not going to happen, is it?”

  “What are you thinking of doing?”

  “I’m going to teleport every twelve hours to take you to Atlanta, bring Petrina back, return to Atlanta, and bring you back. The teleporting is going to suck, and you won’t get two full days, but everyone gets their holiday visit and everyone comes home.”

  They would all return to Treoir if Tristan was correct about the minimum downtime required for him to teleport that many times in forty-eight hours.

  This qualified him for the Stupid Idea of the Year award.

  He hated holidays.

  Chapter 2

  “What the hell are you doing, Laney?”

  Making a gamble with my entire future, but it’s my gamble to take. Elaine Mackenzie shifted the phone between her chin and shoulder so she could balance her umbrella as she moved down the rain-wet street.

  She hated to be called Laney, but her brother refused to call her Mac. “Last I checked, I’m working and paying my own bills, Brandon. I know that’s a foreign idea for someone still living at home.”

  “I’m the person running our thirty-seven-room mansion, managing all the family financials, plus supporting Father’s political career from down here now that he’s in Washington. All that, plus keeping an eye on my errant sister, as if my other responsibilities aren’t enough,” he snarled. “Here’s a novel idea for you–try pretending to be responsible. You’re twenty-four-years old, for crying out loud. Show some appreciation to the family that raised you. Your room is still available if you can get your act together and stop chasing unicorns.”

  Unicorns. Her cheeks burned. He’d never let her forget what happened the week she turned nineteen.

  Sarcasm was the least of Brandon’s faults.

  He snarled, “Hold on and don’t you dare hang up.”

  A chill ran across her skin. She didn’t live in the same house with him anymore. She was safe, to some degree.

  Who are you kidding? She’d felt safe with a man one time in her life, and that night had turned out to be a mean joke on her.

  A car raced by, throwing a knee-high wall of water against her jeans.

  She had ten minutes to reach Inman Park by foot before the light rain gave way to the thunderstorm threatening downtown Atlanta. Why did it have to rain tonight when she’d planned to get Miss Wilma a Christmas tree? The eighty-eight-year-old woman had been a lifesaver since Mac’s last apartment had burned. Mac had been walking Sampson, the elderly woman’s Dachshund, during severe weather just to help her out. Then when Mac’s apartment building went up in smoke, Miss Wilma invited Mac to share her Victorian cottage.

  The sweet old lady had never asked anything of Mac since she’d moved in, but Mac had figured out that Miss Wilma longed for a tree to decorate.

  Mac picked up her pace. First she had to change out of her best cable-knit sweater and spiked-heel boots. She needed flat-soled shoes and a poncho so she could carry a tree in this weather. She clutched an umbrella in one hand and her electronic tablet in the other while she jogged to beat the threatening downpour.

  A lithe woman in neon yellow tights and matching top speed-walked by in the opposite direction, mocking Mac’s definition of jogging.

  She moved with such grace that rain seemed to dance off the bright yellow fabric.

  Whatever. I’m not athletic.

  Mac was physically strong and did mental gymnastics, so there. She slung a wet curl out of her eyes as Brandon clicked back on the line and started in on her again.

  She talked over him. “I’m busy and I don’t care what you think of my new job. Wait. Unless you think it’s awesome ... in which case, I do care,” she finished in the sweet tone she saved for children and idiots.

  “Are you even listening to me, Laney?”

  “It’s been said that common sense is often an issue for geniuses, so let me analyze this for you, even though you did graduate from Harvard. Have you heard the distinctive click of disconnecting? Me neither. Therefore, it should be obvious I’m still listening, right?”

  “You’re not as funny as you think.”

  This man had destroyed her chance at a normal childhood and now he wanted to ruin the normal life she was trying to live. Brandon was a Mackenzie, and the men in her family put their public reputations above all else.

  Never mar the perfect family image.

  She’d been born a mistake and raised as a lie.

  The minute she turned eighteen, she’d walked away with nothing and scratched out an existence. Brandon and his spin crew had done their usual job of turning her decision to “go it on her own” into more campaign fodder for her father, the senator. They played up how he’d raised a strong woman.

  As if.

  Wait, she did give them credit for hardening her heart. A shame it hadn’t been enough to keep her from being devastated by a man with bright green—

  “Laney!”

  “What?”

  “We allowed you to have your moment of independence. Father accepted that you needed some time to sow your oats.”

  She stopped and the rain tapped harder on her umbrella. If she could afford a new one, she’d sling her phone down on the ground so she could stomp his voice to death.

  Don’t destroy the phone your boss just gave you yesterday.

  That calmed her down. “Are you on crack, Brandon? Sow my oats? I busted my butt every day between carrying a full load at college and working any minute I could. How dare you reduce it to nothing more than some act of defiance.”

  She’d hidden in corners her whole life, but her scholarship had given her the freedom she’d needed to leave home. Thanks to Jacob Kossman, who was also her new boss as of yesterday.

  Every person had a breaking point.

  Brandon didn’t want to test Mac’s again. Not now.

  He’d terrorized her at sixteen, and she’d bloodied his nose when he’d tried to grope her. She’d threatened to tell their father. Brandon scoffed at her, convinced his father would believe him over her, which was true.

  That night, she’d started sleeping with a knife under her pillow.

  Senator Carson Mackenzie pretended he was a family man. Brandon pretended he loved his adopted sister. Another man had pretended to care about her, too, and that had been just as much a lie.

  All men wore masks. She’d grown up in a family of pretenders. The scary part? She was better than all of them at hiding her feelings from the world.

  Brandon only thought he knew the truth about her.

  But right now she wanted to know what this call was really about, and his turning quiet was not a good sign.

  Next would come his infuriatingly calm time-to-put-little-Laney-back-on-reality-highway voice.

  Four, three, two, one …

  Brandon pushed a loaded sigh through the connection. “Father called from China this morning. I promised him I would handle this issue before he returned, but I can’t manage damage control without your coope
ration.”

  Issue? Damage control?

  This was her life, not a political campaign issue. Mac set her jaw. “There is no damage to control. I don’t need your help with anything.”

  “Oh really? I’ve already had two calls from tabloids wanting the inside scoop on the poor little girl the Mackenzie dynasty raised and how we feel about her signing on with the eccentric Jacob Kossman.”

  The edge of her tattered self-respect frayed a bit and her glow of happiness dimmed a little. “It was a requirement as part of my scholarship deal.”

  “Which you should not have agreed to.”

  “That was my decision. You’re just angry because you didn’t know before now and because Kossman answers to no one, not even a Mackenzie.”

  Jacob Kossman funded laboratories all over the world and three specialized in rare genetics. One of those was right here in Atlanta. Years back, Mac had suspected her brother was behind the lack of scholarship offers from the ten schools she’d tried to get into, which was why she’d jumped at the scholarship to a university near Rome, Georgia. They were offering specific candidates a special chance to double major in an odd combination of genetics and mythological studies. Then she’d chosen the mythological studies program for her masters as the final part of that program.

  Brandon and his father were not happy.

  That alone made accepting the scholarship worth the snide remarks she’d suffered about studying fairy tales. The icing on the cake had been getting to delve deep into ancient accounts of the mystical, something she’d always found fascinating.

  The scholarship had covered only part of her expenses. She’d racked up a few school loans on top of needing to actually eat regularly. So when Jacob Kossman offered her a chance to negate those school loans by accepting a position with his research empire for after graduation, she didn’t hesitate. Yesterday though, she realized her job only waved a red flag in the face of her beast of a brother.

  Because Kossman hadn’t hired her for one of his labs where she could use her undergraduate degree in genetics.

  He wanted her to use her mythological studies degree.

  Didn’t matter. She had the background and now she had a job. Kossman’s deal would settle her scholarship contract if she stayed for two years, and the salary would allow her to buy a car and maybe find her own place to live. She would not sponge off Miss Wilma, and Mac wanted her own place, somewhere she’d feel good about inviting a man when she decided to date again.

  The chances of dating happening any time soon were about as good as finding another guy with crazy green eyes.

  Mac might not be entirely thrilled with her new job, but Brandon and his father no longer pulled the strings in her life.

  She shoved warning into her voice to finish this conversation with Brandon. “Let me make myself clear. I have been paying my own way since I turned eighteen and I have asked for nothing.” Except to be left alone.

  “Must I remind you of your tenuous position that does not allow you to be cavalier when it comes to the media?”

  Claws of dread climbed her spine at his not-so-subtle warning. “What are you saying?”

  “That you aren’t as smart as you think.”

  She knew just by his tone that he was not addressing her IQ. Had Brandon figured out that she’d been digging into the family background?

  Mac would not allow Brandon to know how many nights she’d slept in terror, or how hard she’d worked at the self-defense classes she’d taken while in college. Still, the threat he’d thrown out so casually had the result he’d wanted. She stopped and caught her breath as a tingle of fear ran up her spine, then shook it off and forced confidence into her voice.

  “I’m tired of you threatening me, Brandon. I’ve done my part as the Mackenzie charity case you and your father have turned me into. Poor little Elaine, adopted after she was found stuffed in a dumpster. I should be getting paid for all the good press you two have gotten from using me as a poster child for your supposed philanthropic endeavors. I owe you nothing. I’m out of your hair.”

  “As long as you walk around as a Mackenzie, you owe us everything. Don’t ever think you don’t.”

  Her fingers tightened on the umbrella to the point the cheap plastic handle squeaked in protest. If only she could tell the truth to the world, but the minute she did, her life would be forfeit. She’d end up in a dumpster for real.

  Had Brandon discovered what she knew?

  She’d once warned him that she’d left an incriminating letter with a person he would never find. Should anything happen to her that looked the least bit suspicious, it would be mailed to three major news outlets, as well as the senator’s fiercest political enemies.

  He’d laughed in her face and said, “Please give Father a reason to let me off the chain and send me after you.”

  She kept walking, ready to be warm and dry. “I know what you’re capable of, Brandon, but if you think I’m crawling into a hole to keep you and your father happy, you have another think coming. No one cares that I’m working for Kossman unless you let them think it’s an issue.”

  Brandon’s words sounded as if he squeezed them from between clenched teeth. “You’re drawing unnecessary media attention with this ghost-busting crap, plus there’s a rumor that Kossman’s going to support Dad’s closest challenger for his seat.”

  She muttered, “I should have known this was all about political games.”

  Now she understood why Brandon had his jockstrap twisted in a knot. She turned the media comment around on him. “Hey, you’re the tabloid darling. Didn’t I see a snippet on a rag cover about you in an intimate relationship with that very young movie star? What was she? Sixteen? The Mackenzie name survived that shit storm.”

  “No one bats an eye at sex these days,” he said in dismissal. “How many times must I tell you that a Mackenzie doesn’t use vulgar language? It shows a lack of breeding and education.”

  That was a load of crap. She’d heard both men drop F-bombs plenty of times, albeit behind closed doors.

  She smiled, hoping it came through in her voice. “I doubt anyone will question my intelligence.” She might not have inherited the Mackenzie good looks, but she tested off the charts when it came to IQ.

  “Yes, yes, you do have a few brain cells. If you want to be taken seriously as a researcher, then don’t accept a job hunting for goblins and fairies,” Brandon said, changing his tactic.

  Mac trudged on as the drizzle turned to showers. Why did home always feel twice as far away in dreary rain? Or maybe it was because of the conversation grinding on her nerves.

  She dodged a deep rut in the broken sidewalk that had created a natural lake and argued, “Kossman’s investment in researching rare DNA strains may one day offer insight into the genetic makeup of diseases such as Alzheimer’s, leukemia–”

  “Save that spiel for the media. You can paint this any way you want, but Kossman hired you for the Mackenzie name and your bizarre degrees. Everyone knows he wants to prove the supernatural exists, so don’t try to sell him as some kind of trailblazer and that you’re riding shotgun. Father has laboratory contacts all over the country. He’ll find you a position paying whatever Kossman has offered. Maybe more.”

  Senator Mackenzie had gained a reputation of supporting medicine, but in truth that was about pandering to the elderly.

  Mac would rather clean toilets than accept any position associated with the man who’d sired her. Yes, she knew Senator Mackenzie’s dirty secret about her birth, but did Brandon? She didn’t think so, or he’d find a way to drag her back to their mansion and put her under lock and key just to keep dear old Dad’s secret safe.

  She really shouldn’t push Brandon when he was in his protect-the-Mackenzie-name mode, but it was hard to pass up a chance when she felt a moment of confidence. Still, if anything happened to Mac, who would watch out for Miss Wilma and her precious little Sampson? Not her two worthless children who lived on the West Coast, that’s for sure.r />
  Mac’s phone buzzed with a text.

  Kossman’s ID came up on the display.

  “I have to go, Brandon. I’m doing my best to stay out of your family’s life. I suggest you all stay out of mine.”

  “Just remember that I tried to talk to you. You do what you have to and we’ll do the same,” he warned, then added, “and I know what you’ve been researching. Dump this job and come home, or you’ll regret testing limits with me.”

  He hung up before she could ask what he’d uncovered.

  She’d told no one about having her DNA tested. No, if Brandon knew the truth about her so-called adoption, he would have already silenced her. He knew something, but he was fishing.

  The clouds unleashed buckets of rain, slapping the thin umbrella shielding her from a drenching. The oversized smart phone Kossman had given her was a nice perk, but her fingers weren’t long enough to hold the phone and press the keys with one hand.

  A white van pulled up on her side of the street and stopped near the curb. Water sloshed across the sidewalk. Rain pounded the ground in a roar. A thick-chested man who had a flat bulldog face and wore tactical gear exited from the passenger side.

  She’d been introduced to Brewster Jennings yesterday, right after Mr. Kossman hired her. “What’s going on, Brewster?”

  “Mr. Kossman called and said he received word of a potential pre,” Brewster explained. Kossman preferred the nickname “pre” to preternatural or supernatural. Pre would not create as much stir if overheard. Kossman’s man said, “We were the closest team to you. He sent us to pick you up, Ms. Mackenzie. Said he’d text you.”

  “How did you fi–”

  The phone. Clearly the nice perk had come with a GPS and location tracking activated, so her boss could always find her. Good to know.

  She took a breath, not happy about her boss wanting her to drop what she was doing and go with Brewster. “In another two blocks I’ll be home and I can–”

  Brewster had reached for the door handle to the rear passenger area and paused to step over to her. “I realize you’re new and may not understand how Kossman works. You got the first lead on a call, which has to mean he’s either impressed with you or likes you or ... whatever, but the next tip goes to Seth Kako.”