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

by Michele Bardsley

  Human? Tristan still hadn’t picked up on any odd energy. He arched an eyebrow at that order and crossed his arms. “Here’s a better idea. Leave us alone and I won’t hurt you.”

  Bernie must have finally figured out that he’d been screwed without a kiss. He trudged down the steps to join Tristan and muttered, “She doesn’t love me.”

  Tristan ignored him and kept his gaze on the threat. “Pay attention.”

  Bernie’s head snapped up and he started trembling.

  Another guy dressed identically in black cargo pants, a tactical vest, and matching weapon stepped from behind a thick oak tree. He yelled, “Put your hands up now!”

  Shit. Tristan had no idea if those weapons worked on nonhumans, but a blast exploding the head worked on pretty much everyone.

  Tristan had no doubt Bernie’s girlfriend—ex-girlfriend—had called in this goon squad. But what would humans be after?

  More importantly, who was paying for this?

  A third person climbed out of the van and headed their way. This one wore a hooded, dark-gray raincoat that looked too big for the short stature. A voice called out, “Wait, Brewster.”

  A female?

  Brewster must be the guy in charge. He answered, “I told you to stay back until I have them contained.”

  This looked worse every second.

  The woman argued, “You can’t do this or–”

  Brewster lifted his hand. “I’m not doing anything yet. If everyone stays calm, no one gets hurt.”

  Tristan couldn’t make the same promise. If he and Bernie were caught outside of Treoir, Petrina would be left vulnerable to VIPER and the Beladors. If Macha didn’t have Bernie or Tristan in hand to make an example of, she would use Petrina the minute she found her. Tristan would suffer Macha’s anger, but he would not let the goddess take her wrath out on Petrina, or even Bernie.

  He raised his hands slowly, in the universal sign of surrender, and whispered out the side of his mouth to Bernie, “Get ready to run back the way we came the minute I say go. Don’t stop until you find Petrina.”

  Bernie lifted his shaking hands and whispered back, “You’re not going with me?”

  The two men took a step into the open then another toward Tristan and Bernie, weapons pointed.

  Tristan told Bernie, “No. Use your preternatural speed. Don’t allow anyone to follow you to her apartment.”

  Bernie whined, “I don’t want to leave you.”

  “If you don’t do what I say, you’ll get me killed first, then you and Petrina,” Tristan said, tapping Bernie’s protective nature toward Petrina. His words were little more than a bluff. He should be able to defend himself against a trio of humans, but those weapons were odd. Anyone who intentionally hunted a preternatural would come loaded to take down the Kracken.

  The woman in the oversized raincoat squeezed closer to Brewster and whispered, “This is a mistake. I don’t see glowing eyes. Mr. ... our boss would not sanction this.”

  Brewster half turned to answer her. “Doesn’t matter. He pays me to deliver anything and anyone he sends me after. I’m taking this one in. The boss can decide what happens at that point.”

  “But this doesn’t look right,” the woman said. “He won’t be happy about you harassing a human.”

  Brewster’s attention wavered only a second.

  That was enough.

  Tristan took advantage of the discord and ordered Bernie, “Run. Now!”

  Bernie lit out of there faster than a cat with its tail on fire. With Belador speed, he’d turned into a blur.

  Brewster jerked up his weapon.

  Tristan pushed the palms of his hands forward and hoped like hell his kinetic wall would hold.

  Brewster and his sidekick activated their laser weapons.

  The woman jumped up and shouted, “No!”

  Her hood fell back, revealing her face.

  Tristan’s jaw fell open. No fucking way. His kinetic shield shattered beneath heavy laser fire.

  Power struck him in the chest.

  It lifted him a foot off the ground. He bellowed in pain and arched, muscles tight and fists shaking. Taking a lightning bolt through his chest couldn’t hurt this much. Energy blazed across his skin.

  The last thing he saw was Elaine freakin’ Mackenzie’s terror as the world turned gray.

  Bernie had gotten away.

  Tristan’s feet hit the ground. He fell to his knees with only one wish.

  Please let me live long enough to strangle Mac for doing this to me again.

  Chapter 4

  Tristan was back.

  Mac knelt in the back of the van next to his still body. She’d covered him with her raincoat, but he was showing no sign of life. She yelled at the two men in the front of the van, “How could you shoot him? He was unarmed.”

  “I didn’t shoot him. These are Nyght stun guns.”

  “Night? Guns?”

  He spelled it out. As if that helped.

  She had no idea who Nyght was, or what kind of gun Brewster carried, but the strike had taken Tristan off his feet and blue energy had covered his body.

  How could any human survive that kind of power?

  Maybe he’s not human after all.

  She rolled her eyes and forced that thought back into the corner of her mind where curiosity bubbled nonstop, and where she’d shoved that thought so long ago when she’d first been taken in by his little joke. Tristan clearly did not have glowing green eyes now, which confirmed that “bad joke” was the right thing to call what he’d done. In fact, his eyes had looked brown when the light hit his face. The blast had been similar to a lightning bolt, but people survived lightning strikes and those had to be more powerful, right?

  Brewster called back, “He’s alive, right? Mr. Kossman will be pissed at the Nyght weapons group if their stun gun killed a specimen.”

  She warned Brewster, “You’d better hope he doesn’t die, or you’ll have worse to face than Kossman.” She’d turn that damn gun on the lot of them and see how they liked it.

  Sure, she was still angry with Tristan, but she had not signed on to attack humans, or nonhumans, with weapons of any kind. Kossman had some explaining to do.

  This couldn’t be what he had in mind for her or the program.

  He’d never seemed like the kind of man who would endorse attacking a defenseless human. Had Brewster been so determined to please Kossman that he’d made this decision on his own? She didn’t know, but there would be no repeat of this event, not with her involved.

  Her hands were finally warm enough to feel for a pulse in Tristan’s cold wrist.

  How could he be back? Okay, Atlanta was a big city. Maybe he’d never really left at all. Just walked away from her. But why had he been targeted when he clearly did not have glowing eyes?

  She’d wanted to choke him back then for the ugly prank—and for what he’d done to her heart.

  Now she feared he might be dying. Or was he already dead? She kept feeling for a pulse.

  Brewster yelled at the driver, “Look out!”

  Something slammed the side of the van. They skidded and spun, then were hit again. The van lifted up on one side, rolling over.

  Mac screamed and went airborne.

  Hands snatched her out of the air as the van banged over on its side, then rolled onto the roof, then back onto its other side. She rolled over and over, bouncing against walls, but she wasn’t hitting hard or getting banged up much, which made no sense.

  Everything happened so fast, then suddenly nothing.

  The van had stopped upright, but tilted at an angle. The motor still ran. Mac’s heart fought inside her chest. She sucked air in gulps. She tried to push up, but she was pinned down to ... Tristan’s body.

  His arms were banded around her. That’s what had kept her from being bashed. But what about him? First stunned with those blasters and now bounced in a rolling van. How was he even conscious?

  She whispered, “Tristan?”

&nbs
p; “Shh. Be quiet. Don’t let them know you’re awake.” He’d given that order in a taut voice.

  Before she could ask what he was talking about, his arms flopped loose just before the the rear door opened and a harsh voice demanded, “What the hell? Which one of those two is the target?”

  “Don’t know. Let’s take both and sort it out later. We gotta go.”

  Tristan’s lips moved against Mac’s skin when he softly said, “Act limp and unconscious.”

  Her heart was beating too fast for her to pretend to be unconscious. Who had hit their van and what did they want?

  She lifted her lashes enough to see that one man was directing another man who backed a panel truck.

  She whispered, “Who are they?”

  Tristan sighed. “I don’t know. Don’t ask.”

  She hissed, “Why?”

  “Because I said so, dammit.” He sounded pissed, but he had reason to be after this insane capture.

  She narrowed her eyes at the familiar comment. Growing up around male arrogance had immunized her. Ordering her around hadn’t worked on her in the past, and it wouldn’t now either.

  But when the two men came back to pull her out of the van, some innate sense told her to do as Tristan said. He sounded as if this was not unusual for him, but Mac had zero experience with getting kidnapped. She stayed quiet and limp while someone carried her to the panel truck, where he tossed her in.

  Literally tossed her.

  She clamped her jaws to keep from groaning when she landed hard on her shoulder and it popped. Hot pain blinded her.

  Don’t say a word. She clenched her teeth and tried not to move. Tears stung the corners of her eyes. If she’d ended up facing the rear of the truck, her captors would have known she was conscious by the way she bit down on her lip. She took shallow breaths, trying to hold on to her composure.

  A body dropped behind her and the doors slammed shut on the back of the box truck. The sound of a heavy lock being snapped followed. No chance of getting out of here.

  As soon as the truck took off, excruciating pain shot through her shoulder and upper arm. Mac couldn’t stifle a cry at the movement and rolled onto her back, gasping to keep from throwing up.

  Tristan’s inert form came to life beside her. “What’s wrong?”

  ~*~*~

  Stupid contacts. Tristan couldn’t see Mac’s body clearly in the back of this pitch-dark, enclosed truck bed. Without the contacts, he’d be able to see in here, but removing them would be a mistake even though Mac had seen his eyes in the past. Once the contacts came out, they couldn’t be used again. He didn’t want to confirm he was nonhuman to anyone else until he had no choice.

  The less his captors knew, the better.

  Finally, he had the woman who’d stolen his freedom. He’d waited five years to pay her back, and now he had her alone and at his disposal.

  So what are you going to do, chump?

  You’d think he’d have spent every minute of those five years planning her death, or at least some degree of torture.

  But no. A sigh broke loose from him. Good thing no one could hear his thoughts, or his dickhead reputation would take a hit.

  The diesel engine and road noise drowned out most sounds, but he was sure he’d heard Mac moan.

  Was she pretending so he wouldn’t kill her, or had that been a true sound of pain?

  He asked, “Are you hurt? What’s wrong?”

  “Landed hard. Think they dislocated my shoulder.”

  Yep, that hurt. He’d done that to his own shoulder once, and if not for his beast power, he wouldn’t have been able to fix it. Even then, he’d yelled at the top of his lungs, pissed and in agony.

  Why wasn’t she screaming her head off?

  Because I told her to be quiet. If he were as dedicated to payback as he’d thought, his gut wouldn’t be churning at the idea of her in the kind of pain he’d suffered.

  Now he wished he’d fought the two trolls that captured them, but with his power at a trickle, he might have gotten Mac killed even if he had survived.

  He could still regenerate from death one more time. Maybe. He wasn’t sure that worked unless he was in gryphon form. Talk about a screwed-up heritage.

  And why would it matter if Mac died, chump?

  What the ever-loving goddess had brought on all the fucking yammering going on in his head? Until he made up his mind what to do with Mac, no one killed her but him.

  That should shut up his rogue conscience.

  She sucked in a harsh breath and his conscience thumped him again.

  Tristan dug into his pocket for the extra key to Petrina’s building. It had a tiny LED light the size of a quarter on it. When he flashed it on, Mac turned her head away, but not before he saw the tear tracks running down her face.

  He said, “Hold this for me so I can take a look.”

  “Why?”

  Obstinate woman. “I can fix your shoulder, but I need to be able to see.”

  “Do you have a medical background?” she asked in a snappy voice.

  Pain pissed him off, too, but he wasn’t looking for any sort of connection between them, so he answered in a surly voice. “Sort of.”

  She turned back to him. “Is your medical degree sort of like having glowing eyes?”

  Does she think these are my normal eyes? No, she had to be jerking his chain. They’d have the conversation about his eyes and this unfinished crap later, once he fixed her shoulder and put her back on even ground with him.

  That way, she couldn’t blame him for taking advantage of her weakened situation. “I didn’t say I had a medical degree, but I can fix your arm.”

  “Don’t touch me–” The truck bounced over a bump. She clenched her teeth and whined in pain.

  What reason did she have to sound angry? He hadn’t captured her and put her ass in this mess.

  He wouldn’t waste the time finding out right now when he had no idea how long this ride would be. “I can put the bone back into the socket, but you have to help by relaxing. Yes or no? Make up your mind.”

  A tear slid down the side of her nose.

  He’d never seen her cry. He didn’t like watching the tears snake down her face now.

  Tristan growled, “Just hold the damn light, would you?”

  She must be ready to rip her arm off for relief. Without looking at him, she lifted her good arm and opened trembling fingers. Tristan placed the LED between her index finger and thumb, closing them carefully.

  He told her, “Point the light down so you don’t blind me.”

  When she did, he finally got a look at her shoulder. This was going to hurt like a son of a bitch.

  He’d barely touched her arm and she hissed, “Don’t!”

  “The longer you wait, the harder this will be, Mac.”

  She muttered something about that being easy for him to say. That mouth hadn’t changed a bit in five years. Constantly asking questions or debating whatever anyone said.

  But now that he could see more of her, it was obvious she’d grown up since the last time they were together. The soft curves were still there, but she had a sharpness about her that didn’t fit the sweet young woman he’d met in Piedmont Park so long ago.

  The same woman who sent you to South America in chains the first time, and played a role in your capture tonight.

  True, and he wanted to give her a piece of his mind, but not while she ground her teeth in pain. Even he wasn’t that much of an asshole. He’d get his chance to ask her why she’d turned him over to the Beladors so long ago.

  Did she even know who the Beladors were?

  She pretty much had to for them to come after Tristan when he was captured. Right? But they were hypervigilant about secrecy, so how could she have known of them? He’d wanted that answer for a long time.

  Mac turned to face him, but kept the light pointed down, which left his face in shadows. “What makes you think you can do anything with my shoulder?”

  Surviving all th
ose years in a dangerous jungle made him a fucking expert. “If you’ll stop the twenty questions and work with me, this will go faster.”

  “Not until you explain how you’re going to–”

  Tristan sighed, gently grasped her injured arm and she shut up with a hiss. In that moment, he couldn’t deny it. He hated seeing the woman he’d once cared for hurt.

  Exhaustion had to be messing with him, but as much as he wanted to lash out at her, he gentled his voice. “Just relax.”

  If he’d been a normal human, he’d have to put his foot against her torso to do this, but even at low energy he still had supernatural strength. He only had to put one hand under her arm to push against her body for leverage.

  Bad idea. His fingers were inches from her breast. What kind of horn-dog thought about a woman that way when he was supposed to be helping her? Me, evidently.

  He closed his mind to everything except gently pulling on her arm as she panted and made noises that were gutting him. Could he ease her pain the way he’d once used his energy to help heal a nonhuman?

  Tristan called up his beast and fed healing energy down his arm to his hand that touched her body.

  Sweat ran into his eyes, in spite of the cold air.

  The shoulder popped back into the socket.

  Relief flooded him. He let out a breath, not questioning why her being hurt stressed him so much.

  When he looked down, he found Mac sniffling, but she hadn’t made a sound the men in the cab might have heard over the road noise and rumble of the diesel engine. Damn, but he admired her grit. “Are you okay, Mac?”

  “Yes... I’m surprised the pain is easing, but I’ve never had a shoulder go out like that so I guess ... that’s normal, huh?” she answered with a swipe of confusion in her voice. “I feel a weird ... sizzling where you’re touching me.”

  “Just the feeling coming back to some of the nerve endings,” he said, pretty sure that was a lie. He moved his hand quickly, thankful his beast energy actually did something for her.

  But she didn’t think he had glowing eyes.

  That made no sense. She knew he had glowing eyes. She’d seen them.

  She acted as if she didn’t know he was a nonhuman.

  A thought hit Tristan square in the chest. Someone had turned him in, just like Claire had done to Bernie tonight. What if that someone was not Mac? Tristan dug through old memories, trying to sort through what had happened and who owed him for lost time. Could she have said something back then to a human who knew of the Beladors?