Alpha Blood

by Tamara Rose Blodgett

  Humans are confounding.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Cyn

  J ulia’s got to be nervous. Hell with it—Cyn’s nervous for her. Cyn tries to keep her ears pricked while Julia begins speaking, but Truman’s a huge-ass distraction.

  Being a werewolf girl is pure garbage.

  His thigh is aligned with hers, and Cyn can feel every ounce of their combined body heat seeping into her leg.

  She won’t squirm, but the chemistry is there, baby.

  Cyn concentrates on Julia’s words, trying to be a tiny bit mature.

  Jules took a sec to get herself cleaned up and is wearing a long dark skirt with a caramel-colored long-sleeved top that perfectly matches her champagne-colored eyes and hair.

  Scott stands at her side, towering over her, and Cyn can almost feel the soul-meld buzzing between them.

  “First, the good news.”

  Cyn hears murmurs of affirmation from the one hundred or so souls who remain together and alive in Region One with the majority from Region Two.

  “For those of you who haven’t heard the best news of all—I’m spore free.”

  The gasp of relief is palpable in the outdoor space, and Cyn shivers. The early autumn has bite, and even though she’s an Alaskan girl, she’s gotten used to the warmer climate. The Pacific Northwest has a damp chill that Alaska lacks, and somehow, the cold is easier to take than the wet.

  Truman notices and casually slings an arm around her shoulders.

  Cyn does a not-so-subtle burrow against his side.

  Feels right, like they’ve always been.

  Julia goes on. “And the bad news is…” She hesitates, and Scott puts a hand on her shoulder.

  There’s a swollen pause as her speech goes from aloud to mental.

  Julesʼs words whisper through Cyn’s mind like a cold wind.

  We’ve lost Victor.

  Fuck, Cyn has time to think and feels a similar sentiment push back from the others.

  Julia continues, her words threading through their collective minds like an unspoken poem.

  Dark master took his body, but not his soul. That part of him remains in heaven, where all the Blood Singers dwell.

  Tears brim Cyn’s eyes then roll down her face. Even one person lost is too much, after Tony Laurent.

  Truman’s arm crosses his body, and he takes her hand, warming the chill.

  How far they’ve come. From detective of the Homer police and high school senior to werewolves.

  My bad, Cyn thinks, Were.

  Julia fills everyone in on the new order, as it is with someone who’s young, relatively new, and wanted by everyone, but more powerful than all.

  She’s modest, but everyone gets it as Julia switched back her speech to aloud.

  They listen—and come to understand that Hades couldn’t beat Julia. She was too angelic to not survive.

  But it wasn’t without loss.

  Julia finishes with, “And even though their dark prince is gone, I suspect there’s always going to be that fight between good and evil. But this time, I’ll be ready. I’m going to learn what it is I’ve been given and use it to protect my people.”

  Cyn leaps to her feet, displacing her tightly knitted sitting posture with Truman. Clapping, the tears that run down her face aren’t sad, but ones of hope.

  And damn, there’s a big difference. Cyn knows this from cold, hard experience.

  Adi

  Holy shit, Adi thinks, taking in the new female who walks between Jake and Howard. She didn’t think there were actual living, breathing women who were as beautiful as this one. The female doesn’t act like she knows, though.

  Head down, she walks into the midst of their small pack like she might face a beating for just existing.

  Right away Adi senses the female is beta, which is fine. Females haven’t been prevalent enough in the Northwestern for so long that the in-fighting is a thing of the past.

  Nova stands to the right of Adi. The whelpling is on the verge of being a mature female. Alongside her is Susan. Jenni and Devin are on Adi’s left, both shifting their weight nervously. Little Ella is practically hopping with excitement.

  Howard steps forward warily, dragging light-hazel eyes to Slash. “I had heard we had a new Alpha.” His words accuse a silent Quill while his eyes remain on Slash.

  But Slash puts the kibosh on that noise right away with, “I have come to lead, but not to fight.”

  Jake puts his body slightly in front of the new female and plants his feet wide. “We follow Quillon.” His dark eyes travel to Quill, who comes forward and, in the old words, says, “Be at ease, warrior. Slash is well-intended.”

  Slash cocks a brow, and Adi has to bite her lip to keep from cracking up. Slash likes to drop into the ancient language once in a while, but typically, it doesn’t sound too odd coming from him. But to hear Quill?

  Hilarious.

  Jenni gives a subtle elbow jab to her ribs and whispers, “Is that normal?”

  Adi gives a slight shake of her head, certain she means the antiquated speech.

  No, it’s not normal, but when a fight among Lycan threatens to break out, sometimes nothing takes the place of a little common courtesy.

  “Seems strained,” Jenni adds.

  Adi gives another small nod. She knows Slash can win. But she won’t lie—Adi doesn’t want any more good males to die because of internal conflict.

  The Northwestern can’t afford that right now.

  She’s vulnerable because of pregnancy and because of rogues like Bray the Donkey Dickhead.

  And his blood will make him return. Bray has a whelp here, and he’s Were enough to be compelled to come back.

  The pack will have to be ready. They need every male they have.

  Jake’s shoulders ease. “Good,” he says in curt acknowledgement.

  Adi swears she feels the testosterone ease off from the precipice of conflict.

  Ella leaves the small group of females, and Adi tries to catch her sleeve, but she races to the new female.

  “Hi. I’m Ella, and I belong here, and this is my mom, Devin. I’m a woof too.” She grins widely, and everyone laughs.

  Out of the mouths of babes, the humans would say. They might have something there. Adi’s lips twist.

  “Well hello, little one,” the new female says. Turning her palm over, she stretches out a delicately put together arm. Though she is a tall female, she’s built tiny.

  Ella grabs the hand she offers and begins to drag her toward them.

  Startled, the new female lifts her head, and every male—even Slash—takes a sharp breath of surprise.

  Adi thought she was beautiful.

  But she hadn’t gotten a full-on look at her face.

  That “drop dead gorgeous”—that’s her.

  Ella drags the female after her until she stands in front of Adi.

  Stooping, the new female bends over Ella, and the little female cups her face, looking it over carefully, then announces, “I like your face.”

  Who wouldn’t? The female has raven-black hair and skin like polished alabaster. But the miracle of her beauty doesn’t end there. Sculpted cheekbones that are high and broad supports eyes that are a true light violet mixed with gray, giving them the appearance of brushed lavender. Full lips take up more real estate on her face than they should have a right to. But somehow, with the fine bone structure of her face, it works.

  The dark hair falls to a tiny waist, and below that, long legs top off a perfect figure.

  “God, you’re a gorgeous girl,” Jenni breathes. “Who has purple eyes?” she asks no one in particular.

  Deep pink spreads across her cheekbones, and Adi easily scents her discomfort.

  “No big, we’ll get over how much of a stunner ya are,” Adi says with her usual brand of brash finesse.

  The female flinches.

  “We don’t fight females here. Besides, I’d think twice about breaking a face that looked like yours. Seems sacrilegi
ous.”

  Devin snorts but nods. “No shit.”

  “Mama, that’s a bad word.”

  “Yes, baby.” Devin pulls Ella to her, wrapping her arm around the whelpling’s small body.

  Nova and Susan are silent.

  The female stands. “I am called Marley.”

  “Huh,” Adi says, walking around Marley.

  Her eyes widen, following Adi with a caution that isn’t needed here. The males remain silent, as they should. Accepting alien females from a foreign pack is always decided by females.

  Adi’s Alpha, and that part is her right as the mate of the Alpha of the Northwestern.

  “Alpha, your mate is scaring, Marley.”

  “Thank you, Howard. I am fine.”

  Adi could smell she was as skittish as a colt. What made Adi feel kind of bad was the sad resignation in her eyes.

  Marley has been someone’s punching bag.

  After careful inspection, she finds fine scars visible on Marley’s perfect skin.

  Bitches. Literally. Adi can see it: Beautiful, like ethereal beautiful, beta is in a pack. Every male wants her, even the Alphas. She’s so exquisite, they don’t care if she’s the lowest female that ever breathed. Beauty like what Marley’s got? Unparalleled.

  Adi knows what she is. She’s cute. She’s average. But she’s Alpha. She’ll always trump a beta female because she was born Alpha.

  She cocks her head to the left. “Were you beaten?”

  Marley lifts her chin. “Always, though I am alive, Alpha.”

  “Adi,” she introduces herself. “I’m not like regular bitches.”

  The males laugh.

  Adi gives them the middle finger.

  Marley widens her eyes at the gesture, clearly uneasy.

  “You are with whelp.”

  Adi narrows her eyes at Marley. “You’ve got a good snout on ya.”

  Marley nods, saying nothing.

  “You’re welcome, even though you’re so damn beautiful, it hurts me to look at you.” Adi snickers.

  Marley’s lips twitch. “I’m afraid that is the fault of my sire and lady.”

  Adi smiles at the neat dismissal of the compliment, admiring the female's tact, grace, and intelligence. Marley will fill out the pack nicely. She opens her arms. “Come here.”

  Marley inches forward, and her hesitation makes Adi want to cry.

  Finally, the taller woman folds herself around Adi. Though Adi is an athletic Were, and Marley dwarfs her, there’s not much to the female.

  When her shoulder grows wet, Adi realizes Marley is crying.

  Not from pain or fear, but from relief of their acceptance.

  Adi meets Slash’s eyes and sees pride.

  This was her first real test as Alpha female.

  She might’ve passed. Sometimes being a leader is more than overlording, but affirming those who can’t lift themselves up.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Laz

  T hey’ve made excellent time, traveling swiftly. With every step forward, leaving behind the encounter with the turned Were relieves them both in body and spirit.

  Though Laz believes the male still lurks, awaiting opportunity to seek his weak vengeance, he is untroubled by that potential.

  Laz intuits this because Bray is the exact sort of being who ended up under the various torture devices of Below.

  No matter.

  Though two of the miscreants escaped, four were dealt with, and his Redemptive is safe.

  Laz is very much into economy of action and thoughts. That mindset has been a necessity for his entire existence.

  And their “hot dog,” as Tessa calls their unborn offspring, is also safe. Laz’s lips form a rueful smile.

  Hot dog. He shakes his head. Tessa lightens him.

  His very nature is grim. There is no other way for the demonic, though Laz understands who he is as part of the consequence of circumstance of birth. Though Laz doesn’t know what his non-demonic side is, he is grateful for whatever gene pool allowed him to escape the blood rite that momentarily paralyzed him. Breaking free of that would only have been possible because of his mixed genes.

  “Look.” Tessa points to a sign that leads from the main highway up the embankment from where they hike. Their parallel course abuts the gray asphalt ribbon filled with vehicles driven by humans.

  Laz’s gaze tracks her finger, easily making out the sign.

  Olalla.

  “How much further to Arletta?” Laz asks. He knows the lay of the land, so to speak. Unlike the Were, his sense of smell is limited to that which aids him in breeding and eating; everything else is a dull roar. That lack of keen scent was never a problem Below. He finds in Between, he misses what the ability would afford him.

  It is Tessa who has scented out the location of the Northwestern pack.

  “If we run, maybe less than an hour.” Tessa’s voice possesses a thoughtful tone.

  Laz takes her hand. “No, I do not want you doing too much physically until we are somewhere safe and you’ve eaten.”

  Tessa’s eyes flash. “The edge of hunger makes me bright, fast—hard.”

  Laz reminds himself that Tessa is only seventy years old and can sometimes run headlong into situations where being well-fortified is an advantage. “Yes, my Redemptive, and your lack of fuel makes your mate uneasy, as your hunger beats at me like unsteady wings.”

  Tessa pivots in his direction, her golden eyes liquid heat on his face. “You sense my hunger?”

  He nods. With every breath, he feels the flutter of her belly’s emptiness as though it were his own.

  “Amazing, Laz—I mean, you’re not Were.”

  Laz allows a chuckle. “Being Lycan is not…” He pauses to get the complicated wording of the humans right. “The do all, end all.”

  Tessa stops, cocking a hip. “Don’t try, Laz. Just use all your old-fashioned speech. The other jazz just ain’t you, darlinʼ.”

  He scowls.

  “Poor baby, I know you want to be relevant and all, but since you were Below, all busy with torturing all the jerks who deserved it, you weren’t exactly brushing up on current twenty-first-century vernacular.”

  No, Lazarus was very preoccupied with accomplishing his work. Dark Master was pleased with Lazarus.

  Tessa once noted he was a “follow-through type of guy.”

  Laz believes no matter how disparate their roles in his life to be, Dark Master and Tessa both held him in the same esteem.

  The irony is not lost on Laz, as little is in most matters.

  “Don’t be so overprotective, Laz.”

  Not so easily done, he’s afraid. “We will—what do you call it? Ah yes. Jog.”

  Tessa scowls.

  Laz smiles at his clever compromise.

  “You’re such a butthead sometimes.”

  Laz gets a visual of a male buttocks atop a body and frowns. “That is a terrible sight.”

  “Don’t think about it then,” Tessa mutters.

  Laz wisely says nothing. Tessa feels utterly confident about her neutral or positive reception at the Northwestern. Laz, though, has learned caution in his thousand-year life.

  Taking the lead, he sets a pace he is comfortable with his pregnant mate keeping. It will not be an hour as a sprint would have been, but the pace is fast enough for Laz’s liking.

  His Redemptive easily catches up to him, and they jog south, alongside the human highway and their collective oblivion to the dangers of what and who surround them.

  Tahlia

  With the window completely down, Tahlia repeats what she did earlier, letting part of her face lean out the window. Fragrant air rushes past her nose. Ocean, rich forest, animals, and underneath all that—Were.

  Tahlia’s eyes snap open.

  “Here,” she says quickly, swinging her head in Brent’s direction.

  He slams on the brakes. They’re parked at a four-way stop. “Um, no offense, but we’re in the middle of nowhere.”

  “Not qui
te,” Tahlia replies softly, her eyes taking in what her senses confirm.

  There are Were close by.

  To her left, opposite the four-way stop, is a small, tired convenience store that appears in ill-repair. A garish neon sign proclaims the shop is open.

  There is a Were inside.

  Tahlia flares her nostrils hard, forcing the under scents deeply. No, a human slave to the Were, she rethinks, wrinkling her nose. A Lycan slave is akin to a drudge for a vampire.

  A drudge is a necessary evil for a pack, but always something that has set Tahlia’s teeth on edge. A Were drudge is a human who aspires to be changed, despite the remoteness of the possibility. Tahlia feels it’s unfair to dangle that particular carrot in front of a human with the unrealistic expectation of becoming a supernatural.

  “Now what?” Brent breaks into her thoughts.

  For a moment, Tahlia forgot she was with Brent. That she was in his car. That he saved her from an assault by being there at a crucial moment then giving her food so she could kick-start her healing.

  “I’ll have someone pick me up in there,” Tahlia says in a sure tone, pointing to the tiny dilapidated building that proclaims itself to be the Arletta Store, though one of the letters is so faded it’s a fill-in-the-blank word.

  Brent’s gaze follows her finger.

  A honk sounds from behind them, and he eases forward, throwing on the indicator. It blinks to the left of the steering column, and Tahlia regards it with suspicion, knowing that it tells those behind them what direction they intend to go.

  Brent pulls into the diminutive parking lot and pushes a stick until it settles into the “P” slot, one of five in the floor.

  The car idles, the engine tossing out fumes so foul, Tahlia is forced to roll the glass into the closed position to ward them off.

  Brent’s dark-green eyes are steady on her face, quizzical. “I guess this is goodbye, strange, wonderful girl.”

  Tahlia smiles. “Yes.” Turning from the questions that crowd his expression, she opens the door and heads around to his side of the vehicle as he exits. Brent is a full foot taller than Tahlia, but she is unafraid. This human risked much to pick a stranger up on the side of the road. Though Brent doesn’t know how dangerous she is to him, Tahlia does. She appreciates his fearlessness and compassion.